


Fire, Water, and War

by astudyinpanda



Category: Dragon Age II, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, F/M, Post-Game(s), Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinpanda/pseuds/astudyinpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragon Age II/The Hobbit crossover. Fenris’s hand is terribly burned. In search of aid, Hawke leads her companions to Lake-town, at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. It’s bad timing for recovering one’s health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try for a chapter-per-week publishing schedule, probably on Tuesdays (because seriously, fuck Tuesdays). Also I'm mostly obsessed with Dragon Age II at the moment, so the heroes of Middle Earth have been slightly ~~written out~~ upstaged.

_Endure. Endure. Endure._ It had been a long time since this level of pain had come from something other than his lyrium markings. In a few breaths, the burn surpassed that. It was longer still since he'd borne this, but the way to resist was the same. Endure. Without a healer, he'd never use his hand again. He turned his thoughts away from the permanent damage. Even his throat burned, from smoke and screaming.

The Templar across the fire from him pulled on the chain around Fenris's wrist, tugging it sideways out of the flames. Smoke smelling of charred flesh blew into Fenris's face and he turned his head aside, his teeth grinding. No good looking. One of the Templars watching the lieutenant's work whirled away from the fire and vomited. The three behind Fenris who held him on his knees dug their fingers into his chained arms and shoulders.

A metal gauntlet gripped his jaw and forced him to face the Templar lieutenant. The scowl was a good effort, but her wide eyes betrayed her horror. Torture brought her no joy, but she did this in the Maker's name. A man less intimate with agony than himself would have been well beyond questioning by now. If she had any experience in interrogation, she'd know that. He'd been at the mercy of more dangerous humans, but not many.

"You're stubborn to no purpose, elf. The Champion's in the company of blood mages. One of them will give in to temptation. The Champion will die without a trial at the hands of an abomination. We can save her from that fate."

These Templars had no idea how many abominations he and Hawke had killed over the years. Big ones. Bigger ones. Desire demons that promised everything. They'd even defeated Anders and Justice once, in the Deep Roads. He smiled wryly at the memory. The Templars must think him mad, in the blue light of his tattoos with his hand still smoldering. The Champion of Kirkwall needed no saviors, particularly not ones who’d kill her after a trial more for the Chantry's benefit than hers.

The rattle of chain was his only warning before the Templar dragged his hand into the flames again.

############

"That's his voice," Hawke murmured to Merrill.

"How can you be sure? A wounded halla makes sounds like that when..." Hawke gave the elf an impatient glare, and as hoped, Merrill thought about what she was saying. "Oh. Never mind." 

Hawke glanced over her shoulder to her sister. "Bethany, are you ready?" 

Her sister tightened her grip on her staff and nodded. "Lead on."

"Wait until somebody spots me to cast," Hawke said. "We'll look like nughumping ninnies if they stop their heads spinning long enough to smother the magic."

"Bianca and I'll put a bolt in any heads that stay still long enough." Varric patted his crossbow.

"Perfect." Hawke shook out her arms and legs and flashed a grin at Bethany and Merrill. They were the ones who always needed extra encouragement. 

"And you." She pointed at Gamlen Junior, a Mabari war dog whose tongue lolled out of his mouth in his excitement. "Keep Bethany safe. No chewing on Templars unless they're coming for her. Here I go!" Hawke broke from the tree line and ran across the clearing toward the Templar encampment.

############

_"She's still in Kirkwall, I swear it on my sister's soul,"_ Fenris roared in Tevene. When the chain loosened, it and his captors were the only things holding him off the dirt. He breathed more smoke than air.

"Say whatever you just said in the Maker's tongue and you may sleep tonight!" the lieutenant screamed back.

Fenris couldn't find the words to remind her that his language was older than hers. He had to speak, to keep out of the flames. "I can't." That wasn't what he'd meant to say, but by all that's holy, it was true.

"Try."

He opened his mouth to do it. A Templar near the edge of the camp screeched and collapsed in a clatter of armor. A bubble of blue light enveloped Fenris, chains and all. The Templars behind him tumbled away. He fell toward the fire, but caught himself on his good hand and pulled the other to his chest. The chain's heat blackened a patch of his shirt. 

He grinned into the shocked face of the Templar lieutenant. The tip of a crossbow bolt protruded from her throat.

Fenris got his feet under him and crouched. The Templars flailed about in a confused search for their opponents. Once the Templars noticed the magic barrier protecting him, they'd dispel it and run him through. 

A lithe woman with sparkling eyes and the scent of safe nights and peaceful dawns dropped to one knee outside the barrier. The base of her bow thumped the ground. Her arrow sprouted in one of the guards' eyes. 

The barrier didn't matter. Nothing would harm him now. _"You are everything beautiful in this world."_

"I agree, it was a damned good shot." Hawke liked to make up her own translations. "Can you run?"

"Yes, but I want my sword." Without a weapon he was vulnerable and off balance. 

The barrier flickered and died. Hawke swore with a phrase she must have picked up from Isabella. "After this lot is dead, I'm sure Bianca will help look for it. Let's go!" She caught a blow from a Templar's broadsword with her bow braced along one arm. With the other she hauled Fenris upright. Pain tore from the remnants of his fingertips to his shoulder, under his tattoos. He staggered, but kept his feet. 

She released him, drew her dagger, and took the offending Templar on. A path opened between Templars to the darkness beyond the firelight, and he forced himself to run. Chains dragged in his wake. The Templar camp erupted in magical fire. He fell into shadow, cool grass, and soft earth.

############

Hawke had no trouble finding Fenris's sword. The thing was almost as big as the elf himself. The Templars had just laid it on the floor in a tent, which had been reduced to cinders in Bethany’s firestorm. His pointy gauntlets were more of a challenge, but she found them in a formerly locked chest in the remains of a different tent. At least they had the courtesy to leave the red cloth Fenris tied around the right one after her first night with him.

She held the weapon point down at shoulder height to keep it from dragging on the ground. "Your sword, serah. Whoa!" She tripped over his leg in the dark and nearly put the enormous blade through his back. She set her burdens on the grass and rolled him over in a rattle of chains. Moonlight revealed his right hand and part of his arm, charred down to the bone. "Oh shit, oh Maker. Bethany!"

The mage ran to them. "Andraste's blood, what's that smell?" Bethany held Fenris's arm above the burn while Hawke knelt on his other side. Her face was so pale that Hawke grasped Bethany's shoulder before she passed out on top of her patient. 

"This will take time, if I can heal it at all," Bethany said. "I'm a lot better at making fire than cleaning up after it. I need light and clean bandages."

Fenris moaned as Bethany gently lowered the arm to his chest. Hawke covered his unburned fist with her palm. "It's all right. I'm here." Well, the second part was true. His poor hand. This pile of dead Templars was even more satisfying than the one she'd left in the Gallows courtyard on her way out of Kirkwall.

Fenris shut his eyes tight and pressed his forehead against her knee. Swift, shallow breaths hissed through his teeth. Now that he was awake, his tattoos pulsed. In daylight nobody would notice, but they lit his skin in the dark. Hawke had seen them do it in time with his heartbeat, but she hoped they did it for a different reason now.

He said something in the language of Tevinter. Hawke smoothed his silver hair away from a face almost as pale. "You can't kill a person twice, not even a Templar." 

Bethany looked at Hawke like the mage's time in the Circle had made her forget her sister's smart mouth, but the corners of Fenris's mouth twitched up. "Endure."

"Exactly," Hawke murmured. Too bad their attack on the Templar camp took out every one of the self-righteous bastards. She could think up some questions to ask, to justify what she'd do to a survivor.

"We can't wait until we reach Orzammar to work on him," Varric said behind her. "It's still weeks away."

"And he shouldn't be moved from campsite to campsite, anyway," said Bethany. "This wound will get infected easily. Is there any place safe nearby?"

"If there were, we wouldn't have been sleeping on tree roots for the past week," Hawke said. "They probably grabbed Fenris near the road. We have to assume that all of the roads are being watched. And this isn't a great place for being inconspicuous, either." The smoke billowing up from the wrecked camp would be obvious for miles, in daylight.

She slid an arm behind his back and helped him sit, then stand, while the others gathered his gear. He rested his head against her shoulder when they started walking. The fact that he'd allow himself that comfort with everyone watching told her just how much pain he was in. Tears welled in her eyes, but they wouldn't help anyone.

At their own camp, Hawke laid him on the least rocky dirt she could find. He was drifting out of consciousness already, and he may not have noticed her gentle kiss.

She returned to the others and spread a map over a clean patch of ground in the firelight. "Vigil's Keep is what, eight days northwest?"

"Too cold," said Bethany. "I'd never take a burn victim into those mountains."

"Mountains..." Varric stroked Bianca's stock. "There's an abandoned thaig a lot closer than that, with a human town at the foot of its mountain. Tiny place, out of the way, but they're used to foreign guests from their trade with the elves of Mirkwood. A few strangers from the wilds will hardly wag the gossips' tongues."

"That sounds perfect," said Hawke.

############

Fenris fell from nothingness into agonized waking in a single gasp. He moaned and curled over his bandaged hand. Hawke's body pressed against his back and her arm slipped over his chest. "Easy, love."

His breath dragged into him, ignoring his attempt to control its pace. The cool night air felt good on his skin. Hawke's skin felt better, where her undershirt exposed it.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to find you," she whispered.

Fenris turned his head to kiss her upper arm. "I should not have left."

"That was an amazingly bad idea, yes. I hope you see why I'm staying with this crew now. They have our backs against the Templars."

"They have your back."

"And I have yours." Her lips brushed the base of his neck, a pleasant distraction from his throbbing hand. 

"I would have returned," he said.

"Glad to hear it. Otherwise I'd have had to come looking for you. The last bunch of people who did that came to a bad end."

############

Fenris lost track of the days they spent travelling toward the Lonely Mountain. Bethany's magic dulled the worst of the pain, but the effort drained her. They covered half the ground they usually did in a day with him shuffling along at the rear of the group, keeping his hand as still as possible. If they stumbled into a company of Templars they'd be hard pressed to defend themselves, and there was no avoiding the roads. Lake-town was one of the few settlements for miles around, not counting the abandoned thaig, and an old one. Many roads led there.

The result of this was that Bethany didn't drain her mana reserve completely. The blackened husk of Fenris's hand was a constant torment. 

To his surprise, Varric seemed almost as regretful about the lack of relief as Bethany. "I should have listened to my tutor better as a child," he confided one night while he was on watch and Fenris lay awake. "He tried to teach Bartram and me the recipe for silverdene, which you're supposed to use for the first few days after a burn. I paid about as much attention to that as I did to smithing and swordplay." He shook his head. "If I've learned one thing from following Hawke around, it's that there's no such thing as superfluous information. Everything comes in handy at some point."

"If it requires silver, we've precious little of that anyway." Fenris didn't want to hear about things that would make him feel better if they were impossible to attain.

"We need silverite, not the processed silver in coins. If there are surface dwarves in Lake-town, they might have some. Might have the formula, too" Varric said. "I'll ask around when we get there."

That hope, somehow, made the current lack of silverdene seem much worse. Fenris was thinking about the pain again instead of trying to ignore it. He stifled a moan and turned his face away from the firelight.

A night or two after that conversation, they saw the lights of the town itself. The sun set only an hour ago, so Hawke judged it as good a time as any to scout ahead. "I'll go in and take a look around. With my bow and my hood up in the dark, they may assume I'm a hunter who's been damned unlucky. Same for you maybe," she added to Merrill.

The elf brightened. "Oh, a disguise! This will be fun. Or, you know, terribly awkward."

"I'll see if there's anybody I recognize," Varric said. "Then all the awkwardness will be directed my way, Daisy."

Hawke's and Fenris's eyes locked. If he'd been well, he'd be the first to volunteer to accompany her in a strange town. He couldn't even bleed on someone now. At best he'd catch a blow meant for her, and more likely she'd do that for him if it came to a fight. Not worth the risk. 

"I'll come back for you once we're sure it's safe," she said.

He nodded his assent, and held her with his good arm for a moment after their goodbye kiss. She set the Mabari the task of protecting the apostate and the cripple, hid her face in the shadows of her hood, and stalked into the night.

"If she's not back by this time tomorrow, we're going in to find her," he told Bethany.

"Count on it." 

Even the hound wuffed something that sounded like agreement.

############

"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the town guards when they caught sight of the three travelers. The three Lake-town humans stood with weapons in hand, although the bowman seemed to be having trouble fitting his arrow to the string.

"Are they drunk?" Varric muttered to Hawke.

She shrugged and announced "We're hunters, and we're looking for a place to spend the night. Do you have an inn here?" 

"We do have," one guard said, "but it's full of dwarves. You know if they've got an open room, Erne?"

Erne gave up on his arrow and put it back in his quiver. "One, maybe. Come on, my aunt runs the place. We'll ask her."

The sound of their footfalls changed from the thunk on earth to the thump of boots on planks as they walked onto one of the two parallel bridges to Lake-town. The whole place was built on stilts and platforms over Long Lake. 

"Not very creative with their names, these humans," Merrill whispered. "If the People had made this place, we'd have named it after something that floats. Water lilies, maybe."

"If elves made it, it would smell better." Hawke fought the urge to pinch her nostrils shut with her fingers. "They must just throw their waste into the lake and let it rot!"

The odor apparently didn't bother the shocking number of people milling about the wooden streets. Judging by the number of froth-filled mugs among the townspeople, the guards really might have been drunk. "Does anybody have a Chantry calendar convenient?" Varric asked. "Because this has got to be an official festival I've forgotten." Everybody was in excellent humor, and she saw no telltale glint of Templar armor.

"If the Chantry sanctions it, they haven't sent any of their people. In fact, isn't that the local chapter?" Hawke pointed out a two-story building with the Chantry's sun on the double doors. All of its windows were dark.

"Naw, you haven't missed anything holy," said Erne. "We're celebrating the return of the King under the Mountain!" Merrill jumped when their guide turned and burst into song: "The king beneath the mountains, the king of carven stone..." He waved his hands in an appealing upward motion to the other townspeople, and they took up the rest of the verse. "The lord of silver fountains shall come into his own!"

Hawke glanced over to Varric. He was shaking his head and his eyes were as big as shields. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what?" asked Merrill as they wound through the crowd, which was now singing about restrung harps and golden halls. "Didn't you mention a thaig under the mountain?"

"Yes, but Erebor's been abandoned for half a lifetime. A monster dragon torched the place. Killed everybody inside. Bad business. But I wonder..." Varric didn't elaborate on what he wondered, because Erne shoved two revelers away from a door. The sign over it read "Erannun Inn." These people just loved the letter "E."

Inside was even more crowded than outside. The inn patrons, also all human as far as Hawke could see, wore finer clothes than those on the street. More drank wine than beer or mead. Erne's lack of ability as a bowman seemed to be compensated for by his ability to work his way through crowds without angering the people he pushed past. They made it to the bar with little more than a few drunken attempts to catch the attention of Hawke and Merrill. 

Erne knocked on the bartop until the plump woman behind it saw him. "Aunt May! I've got another dwarf for you to house!" 

That shut the place right up. All heads turned to locate Varric. "Shit," he muttered through an affable grin. He raised a hand in a brief wave.

"Oh, you don't say?" May leaned over the bar to get a better look at him. "You're late, you know. Your friends are all here already."

The people clustered around the table by the fireplace parted. A dark-haired dwarf in a fur coat shouldered through the humans, followed by several more. "Do you know him?" Hawke whispered.

"Contrary to human opinion, just because he's the same race at me doesn't mean I've met the man," Varric muttered. Still, he stepped forward. "Varric Tethras, at your service," he said with a formal bow.

The stranger frowned. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, and you are no friend of ours, I'm certain." Hawke's hand found the hilt of her knife as hostile faces turned back their way. Her bow wouldn't be much use in such close quarters.

"Actually, he's not half bad once you get to know him," called a voice from the back. A dwarf with a truly ridiculous hairdo made his way over. His brown locks were shaped into three points, sticking out either side of his head and straight up at the top, and his dark beard divided into three separate braids.

"Nori!" Varric cried with obvious relief. The two gripped arms, laughing. "Maker, I haven't seen you since Darktown. That fence has been an honest dealer ever since you got through with him!"

"Yeah, keep it down about that, would you?" Nori chuckled. "My brothers are here. I'm trying for respectable these days." He glanced over his shoulder to the expectant dwarves watching him. "He's from out east. He's alright."

Conversation picked up again. Nori introduced Varric around to his friends and relations - there must have been at least a dozen - while Hawke turned back to May. "I know what you want, but I can't very well help," May said before Hawke could speak. "We are full to bursting. I only had four rooms for rent to begin with. Erne and I gave up our own to go stay with my sister, so's the King under the Mountain could have proper dwellings. They're still all staying more than one to a room."

Well, Fenris had been camping for weeks now. He could keep it up a while longer, if Hawke could find him supplies. "Fair enough. How about a healer, do you have one of those?"

May's face clouded with concern. "Oh, who's sick?"

"My... friend." Hawke rolled her eyes at Merrill, who failed to hide a giggle with both hands over her mouth. "He's been badly burned."

"Not by the dragon?" May gasped.

"Of course not," Hawke said quickly. She glanced around, but everybody seemed to be talking about Varric and ignoring the women. "It was an accident."

"Old Ross may be able to help," May said. "But you'll have to come back in the morning. He's asleep at this hour. Bring your friend in for breakfast after sunup, and I'll send for him to come here."

Hawke thanked her. When she turned around, Varric was waiting. "You aren't going to believe this. Or maybe you won't," he added to Nori. "This is Merrill and _the_ Hawke, from Kirkwall."

"I thought so! Nori of House Durin, at your service." Nori executed a bow similar to the one Varric made earlier.

"He comes through Kirkwall on business every few years," Varric explained. "Another professional second son. Even further down the line of succession than I am, the lucky devil."

"I've seen you at the Hanged Man a time or two," said Nori. "Never had occasion to introduce myself." Hawke would have recognized that hair if he had. "The Templars plastered wanted posters with your face on 'em from Antiva to Orlais. Tolerable likenesses, too."

That was no surprise. "So what is it I'm not going to believe?"

"They're going into that damned mountain!" said Varric. "The dragon's still up there, but they're going in anyway!" Hawke felt her eyebrows rise. Fighting a dragon in daylight and an open space with room to maneuver was hard enough. Fighting one in a cave, in the dark, sounded like suicide.

Nori looked around and lowered his voice. "We brought a burglar. A hobbit from the Shire. He's so quick and quiet it's like he's invisible."

Hawke had never seen a hobbit. She craned her neck to peer around the humans, but all she saw were more dwarves. "He certainly looks invisible now."

A white bearded dwarf nearby said "He's sitting by the fire."

"That'll be Dori," Nori explained. "Here, come say hello. I hear you've done a bit of burgling yourself."

"Honestly, Varric, what have you been telling people?" Hawke moaned. 

They all followed Nori to the fireside, where they were introduced to a small person with curly blond hair sat on the hearth, pocket handkerchief in hand. He had about the same proportions as a human child, except for his large and hairy feet.

"Plezzer to meeg you," Bilbo Baggins said by way of introduction.

"Oh, what a unique accent." Merrill squinted like she was trying to interpret his words.

"Sorry, I'b sig." 

"Hasn't stopped sneezing since the Lake-men fished us out of the water," said Nori. "He's a sensitive little fellow."

"Ah." Hawke stepped back a pace. A cold on top of everything else might be the end of Fenris. "I want to buy some supplies and get back. I'm visiting again tomorrow. Can we talk then?" The hobbit nodded and apologized again before honking into his handkerchief. 

"You go on back," said Varric. "I'll stay here tonight, if this lout will loan me a spot on the mat. We've got some catching up to do." 

Nori grinned. "You owe me a round, as I recall!"

"And I still say you owe me," said Varric. "You're cousin to a king now. I'll buy exactly one as congratulations, and you can tap the royal coffers for the rest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluffy, with a chance of dragons later in the week.

The morning found all six of them crowded around a small table in the inn's common room. While Hawke, Merrill, Varric, Fenris, and Bethany sat at the table, Gamlen Junior took up the foot room underneath. Fenris sat straight on the stool under his own power, but he clutched the table with his good hand. The knuckles showed white as the lyrium lines over his finger bones. He sat on the side furthest from the hearth fire. 

Varric raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug at Fenris. "Between the lot of them they put together a recipe. Half the stuff on the list is rare, expensive, or just plain not here. It's certainly nothing I'd be able to mix overnight." The wounded elf nodded, though the muscles of his jaw twitched in irritation or pain. 

Aunt May promised them both a messenger to Old Ross and broiled fish and apple dumplings. None of those appeared. Thrice more guests than usual must inconvenience the inn’s staff. "Where are Nori and his family of dragon hunters, anyway?" she asked Varric.

"Packing. They're heading for the mountain today." Varric shook his head like he still couldn't believe it. "And don't go talking about the dragon. It's a touchy subject. The young folks call Smaug elderly tale-telling to keep them off the mountainside. Old folks lost friends and livelihoods to the beast."

Erne burst through the door panting. "Good morning, travelers! Old Ross is slow, but he’s roused and walking. Now I've got to see to supplies. Good morning!" On land he'd have kicked up a cloud of dust. As this was Lake-town, they just listened to his quickly retreating footfalls on the wooden street.

"Well," Aunt May said as she descended the stairs. "You'll have rooms soon enough. The King under the Mountain is coming into his own any day now, you know!" She blinked at the Hawke a few times. "Oh! Do excuse me, I'll have your breakfasts out in a moment. It'll be five silver each."

Hawke pooled the contents of her coin purse on the table with the others'. This was the kind of pittance widows cried over. "I'll pass, thanks," She shouted over her shoulder to the innkeeper. Old Ross would likely expect coin for his healing.

"You'll have mine," Fenris grumbled.

"We'll sort out something equitable," said Merrill. "I don't much like fish."

More footsteps on the stairs heralded Thorin Oakenshield's company. The line of dwarves laden with packs and bedrolls went on so long Hawke started to wonder if she’d seen the same dwarf more than once. She’d have to find out if they wore a trail in the floor, down the stairs and out to the street. 

Nori winked as he passed their table. "Wish us luck, aye?"

"All the luck we can spare," said Varric.

The hobbit was last in line. He still looked tired around the eyes, and his bare feet dragged on the planked floor. He waved sleepily at Hawke and Varric. "The poor thing’s no morning person," Bethany observed.

"So ends our brush with non-Champion greatness," sighed Varric.

Hawke chuckled. "What, meeting Fereldon royalty wasn't enough for you?"

"At the time I was distracted by the Captain of the Guard making googly puppy eyes of admiration and Sunshine falling all over herself trying to curtsey in a robe." 

"Hey!" protested Bethany.

"Besides, I expected you all to be hauled back to your home country on charges of some kind. The whole event went better than expected."

As the hobbit made his exit, a gnarled old man shuffled in. Bethany's head snapped up and she stood so fast her stool clattered on the floor. Hawke's "What's wrong?" was drowned out in Gamlen Junior's barking and Bethany's shouted incantation. 

Wind swept through the room. The fire in the hearth blew out. Soot swirled around the old man, who yelped in what sounded like surprise. After the soot settled onto the floor and tabletops, Hawke recognized the mage in the doorway. "Anders! What are you doing here?"

Anders' cheekbones and hollow eyes stood out beneath taught skin, even without the disguise spell. The raven-feather coat hung off him like an oversized hand-me-down. His stringy hair shifted from gray to its natural blonde. More white hairs remained than he'd had in Kirkwall. 

For a moment he hunched over his staff in the old man's posture. Then he leaned back until his spine made several unpleasant popping noises. "I was avoiding the Templars in this nice, out-of-the-way town. That's that, I guess."

"I knew you'd find a way out of that mess in Kirkwall." Varric's grin gave the impression he was still deciding whether to greet Anders with a laugh or a crossbow bolt.

"Running away is all he's good at." Fenris rose with his left hand on the hilt of his sword. "Your help isn't needed here, abomination."

Hawke clasped her hand over his, holding both him and the weapon in place. "Oh, we're not in such a rush as that. He's about to repay the debt he owes us. The one for letting him leave with all his innards after the trick with the exploding chantry." Her tone was light, but Anders only met her eyes for half a breath before examining the floorboards. If she could transfer Fenris's pain to Anders, she would. It was better than the mage deserved.

"Right." He sighed like she'd trapped him into something he wasn't going to do anyway. She could practically see his martyrdom complex engage. He focused on Fenris’s bandaged right hand, not Hawke's face. "So, what happen?"

############

Hawke told the story while Anders examined Fenris's hand. She'd misread the elf's situation that night on some points, but he let her tell it the way she preferred. In her rendition, twenty Templars held him down while they roasted him.

Ander's magic stung more than Bethany's simple healing spell. Tendrils of power wedged themselves between living bone and dead tissue. The mage didn't speak or make any of the gestures Fenris expected when a spell was cast. It was like Anders' magic probed the wound of its own accord. 

Or no, not his magic... Justice's.

The sensation built on itself the longer Anders held Fenris's arm, until the limb trembled with pain. The elf bared his teeth and averted his eyes from the abomination. It was Anders' fault that the Templars were hunting Hawke. Now the pity written on the mage's face told Fenris just how weak he was. How useless as a protector to Hawke. Even a possessed mage would be of more use to her than a one-handed swordsman.

Bandages made wearing his right gauntlet impossible, but he still wore his left. Metal and leather rattled. The points of the middle and index fingers grazed the skin of the abomination's throat. "Enough."

Anders froze, eyes wide. The magic drained from Fenris's arm, swirling back through the mage's body to be ready when he called on it. Two drops of blood welled around the gauntlet tips and trickled over Fenris's fingers. At least his good hand was steady.

Hawke's fingers wove between his gauntleted ones. When he risked a glance at her face, he found no pity. The corners of her eyes crinkled like she was waiting to make a joke. No doubt it would be at his expense. "Even I cannot dull your wit, can I, adora?" he murmured in Tevene.

He was sure she'd learned his last Tevene word, "my love," but she stage whispered "If you tear out Anders' tongue now, this will only take longer." 

Fenris lowered the iron gauntlet. His disgust with himself faded with the magic wriggling beneath his skin. Given a choice, he'd prefer the burn. "If you're going to heal me, do it," he told Anders. "Don't touch me otherwise."

"How can I help if I don't know what I'm facing?" the mage asked.

"Look with your eyes, not your hands," suggested Hawke. 

After a long silence, Fenris presented the wounded arm again and scowled up at Anders. The mage stuttered back into some explanation he'd been giving Bethany of how her flesh regeneration attempts had gone astray. Despite everything, Fenris chuckled at Anders' discomfort. Hawke squeezed his good hand tighter. She always did find something attractive about his laugh.

Though Anders dispatched everyone in a search for silverdene ingredients, Lake-town's healing supplies were limited at best. The realization that the old traveler in their midst was in reality a middle-aged herbalist with eyes which glowed in the dark did little to encourage help. For nearly two weeks Anders and Bethany alternated healing. After each treatment the scalded flesh grew closer to whole.

The mages managed to numb the pain around the time the wounds closed, a few days into their work. The numbness was too much like another pain he'd tolerated since his night with the Templars.

He found Hawke, hood thrown back and eyes gleaming, standing in the shadows of the chantry building. A dozen human children surrounded her. They ranged in ages from six or seven to thirteen or fourteen. In utter silence, they watched something Hawke was doing with her hands. 

As Fenris approached something clicked, and the children broke into applause and cheers. Hawke bowed, arms wide, an open lock in one hand and a lockpick in the other. With a flourish she made the lockpick disappear, probably between her gauntlet and her sleeve. A wide smile wiped years and a thousand battles off her face.

############

When Hawke straightened from her bow, the kids waved locked boxes and padlocks shouting "Mine next!" Andraste's breath, they jumped and shouted just like Bethany and Carver used to at that age. Especially Carver. He never felt like he got as much attention as his mage sisters.

But then she looked over their tousled heads and her eyes locked with boundless green ones. Fenris leaned on the wall with his bad arm, but he showed no sign of pain. With the autumn breeze wafting his pale hair around his face, he seemed more relaxed than tired. His mouth curved into a coy almost-smile she'd only ever seen directed at her.

"That was the last one, for today." Hawke tossed the open lock to the boatwright's daughter. The girl fumbled it but got her fingers around it before it hit the street. "No need to tell your parents about this, yeah? Our little secret!"

The kids scattered in twos and threes with cries of "We won't!"

The elf waited until they'd passed him, quirking an eyebrow at several who stopped to stare. They scampered off too. Hawke retrieved the lockpick from her gauntlet as she walked over to him.

"I hope you feel as good as you look." She brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes with her fingertips.

He laughed quietly. "Anders claims I won't be completely healed until he gets silverite for that silverdene he and Varric keep talking about. It's in the damned mountain, the Lake-men say."

Hawke slipped her arms around his wiry shoulders. "Then that's where we'll go, as soon as you can get there. If Anders is so sure about how well this stuff works, we'll bring him, too."

She smiled as his hands came to rest on her hips. The right didn't grip as hard as the left, but it was good to feel them again. "The last time we found him potion ingredients in a dragon's mountain, he started a war."

She ducked her head to whisper into his ear "Rip his heart out if he tries. Andraste knows he deserves it."

Ah, the combination of her breath and promises of violence had such a delicious effect on Fenris. Hawke stepped closer, to feel the fullness of that effect more clearly. 

With a low rumble which might have been a moan or a growl, he backed her into the shadows and against the wall. He put no pressure on the injured hand. The good one and the press of his hips against hers, his chest against hers, were firm enough. 

"I've... missed you." His warm breath played across her throat.

"Prove it," Hawke breathed. "Maker, the inn's such a walk from here."

With a mischievous grin worthy of Hawke herself, Fenris wrenched open one of the chantry windows one-handed. Laughing, Hawke twisted out of his embrace and pulled herself over the sill.

The Lake-town chantry was half the size of Lothering's and nowhere near as huge as Kirkwall's. Lake-town's might have sat a third as many as the pile of rubble Anders left behind. Dusty wooden pews lined a water-stained red carpet down the middle aisle. The front doors were boarded from the inside, as were most of the windows. 

The sun slanted through the boards to light motes of dancing dust. Fenris's eyes shone green as emeralds in that slanting sunlight as he levered himself into the empty nave.

############

Fenris's hand seared a painful warning as he climbed into the disused chantry. A bloody handprint remained on the sill behind him. " _Fastevas._ " What were mages good for, if not to undo the mistakes of others? He'd been healed after a beating more thoroughly than this, by mages with no pretense of affection for him. But blood magic healing had little in common with the sort Bethany and Anders practiced. He huffed out a breath, as if he could blow those dark memories away.

Nothing said romance like an open wound. But he'd be damned if he let Templar stupidity keep him from Hawke any longer. He tucked the hand behind his back as he went to her. When he dared to meet her eyes he saw no disgust, only warm desire.

He intended to be gentle, if for no other reason than to limit the risk of getting blood on her. But in her arms, bathed in the scent of her, caressing her with lips and breath, he abandoned that idea. He pressed her back against the side of a wooden pew, kept her there with his hips and a grip on the back of her head with his good hand, holding himself back from rutting against her and knowing she sensed that resistance.

She curved one leg around his waist. He shifted to compensate and hissed as he leaned on the burn. Pain lanced up to his elbow and he staggered. It pushed past whatever blocks the mages had put in place between his mind and body, as if the skin were alight again.

"I know I could use a bath, but you don't have to make such a fuss about it," Hawke said softly. 

He kissed her silent, or as silent as she ever was. The lyrium in his skin pulsed with pain so familiar it became meaningless sensation. Not agony, not pleasure, just spiraling desire pushing him toward her from within. It eclipsed the blaze in his healing hand.

############

Nearly two weeks was long enough for him to ignore his swordplay, much to Bethany's disapproval. He'd waited until nightfall. The flickering lanterns which lit Lake-town's wooden streets should create enough shadows to practice in in peace.

Not two breaths after he hefted the blade, Bethany stalked out of the inn and spotted him. "You'll split all the new skin!" 

"Blood doesn't concern me," he said. The callouses had burned away. He expected torn skin on that hand until he built them back. The sword felt heavy, but it drew his body into his fighting stance without thought. 

Hawke sat on a crate nearby, pretending to polish her bow. Her Mabari hound glanced up at Fenris's first practice strike. When no enemies appeared, the hound propped his drooling jaw on Hawke's boot. Fenris felt her glances when he appeared preoccupied with his form. She looked to be the one preoccupied. As good as it felt to be armed and deadly again, proof he still drew her attention after his weeks of near helplessness was gratifying.

Lake-town had been so peaceful since they'd arrived that none of the Kirkwall escapees felt the need to stand watch. It was Merrill, who'd looked bored with both the healing and the weaponry, who said "What are they shouting about?"

Fenris slung the sword's backstrap over his shoulder and smiled at the weight of it. He joined the others in their procession toward a crowd of people pointing at the Lonely Mountain. 

"Look!" said one of the villagers. "The lights again! Last night the watchman saw them start and fade from midnight until dawn. Something is happening up there."

"Perhaps the King under the Mountain is forging gold," another said. "It is long since he went North. It is time the songs began to prove themselves."

"Which king, though?" Varric muttered. "The only king in that mountain for the past fifty years has been the blasted dragon, Smaug."

"Thank the Maker we can count on your carefree optimism!" said Hawke. Fenris saw through that tone. She was no more convinced that Thorin son of Thrain had defeated the creature than Varric was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tolkein did it better, but this is more fun!

Bright orange blazed among the foothills across the lake, lighting the whole northern end bronze and gold. The townspeople cheered "The King beneath the Mountain! The river is running gold from the Mountain!" 

"Dragonfire." Fenris had seen enough of that for a lifetime.

"Dragonfire," agreed Anders, who'd frequently been called on to heal during those battles.

"Got to be," said Hawke. "Varric, find their watchmaster. Maybe he'll listen to you, since they love dwarves so much around here. Muster every guard you can." He nodded and started asking members of the crowd who and where that person might be.

"Is the fire, ah, coming this way?" Merrill pointed across the water. The golden glow on the water did seem to be spreading south toward them as they watched.

Fenris surveyed the broad bridges connecting the town to the lake's shore. "Those bridges make a perfect landing place. The beast will turn anybody fleeing to ash without risking itself in cold water."

"Cut them," Hawke said. An order she followed up with, "Can you?"

Mallum. She was in control mode, and good tactics won battles, but hacking apart wooden objects didn't require a warrior's strength. It stung that she had to ask. "Of course." He pushed through the crowd and welcomed the searing burn in the new skin of his arm. That pain he bore with practiced ease.

Behind him, trumpets blared in long peels designed to grab the attention. Hawke's voice rose above them, shouting "To arms! To arms!" The townsfolk quit cheering. Fenris smiled grimly. These fishermen and traders were in for the fight of their lives.

The two parallel bridges to Lake-town hung low to the water. In a storm, they'd probably be beneath the waves. Fenris ran to the shore end and began crushing support beams with methodical swipes of his sword. The work felt like good exercise, just at the edge of strain after weeks if idleness.

Bethany had been right about the skin on his hand, though. Each blow scraped his palm. The hilt grew slippery with blood, an irritating complication to the usually comforting swing of the blade. 

Halfway across, the bridges collapsed. The dark water was as cold as he'd predicted. He clambered onto one of the remaining poles. Leaping from one narrow pole to the next, he reached the town once more. 

Anders and Bethany were coating roofs with layers of ice which gleamed in the approaching dragonfire. Heavy beats of the dragon's wings raised waves, rocking boats the townsfolk lowered as a means of escape. The boats thumped against creaking piers as Fenris passed. 

Behind the flames, the dragon's dark form blotted out stars in a shadow the width of Lake-town. Smaug, had Varric called it? - was as big as the monster they'd fought in the Bone Pit. This one was redder and had a lot more flame to spew. The villagers shrieked and prayed. 

Hawke would fight alongside any archers she could find from the highest position with a northward view. The dragon was banking toward him, doubtless aiming for where the bridges had been. Fenris broke into a run.

The archers, with Hawke, Varric, and the mages at their head, were arrayed across Lake-town's main street. Some leaned out of second story windows. Civilians with buckets and bowls threw lake water on the wooden streets and houses. One of them left a full bucket unspilled, and Hawke's Mabari knocked it over with his nose. Fenris's bare soles slapped wet planking.

"Ready!" Hawke bellowed. The archers fitted arrows to their bowstrings. For a nasty moment it looked like they aimed at Fenris. Then dragonfire glinted off their arrowheads. The beast must have changed course when it saw the destroyed bridges. That put it right behind him.

He slid to a stop on the wet street and drew his sword as he turned. If the dragon swooped down on him, he wouldn't give it his back. The hilt was tacky with his drying blood, despite its dip in the lake. The dragon flew overhead, roaring and trailing a gout of flame. Smaug passed well above the roofs, out of Fenris's reach.

But not out of Hawke's. "Fire!" she cried. The mages launched bolts of ice and natural power, and the archers loosed their arrows. 

Many arrows disappeared harmlessly into the night sky. Those that found their mark clattered off the dragon's scales, now frosted with magical ice. The arrows lit in its breath as they fell. 

A few glanced off the sheets of ice on the thatched roofs. Most tumbled as bright sparks into the lake, which quenched them in puffs of steam. Someone kept trumpeting a warning, as if the Lake-men might still be unaware of the dragon.

"Reload! Reload and fire when it comes back around!" Hawke shouted. The inexperienced archers scrambled to obey.

The dragon still circled the town in a cloud of its flaming breath. The lake reflected dragonfire like the water itself burned. The air heated and filled with smoke. Smaug shrieked as another volley of arrows and spells hit its underside. Instead of falling from the sky, the dragon plunged toward the Lake-town defenders, baring teeth as long as Fenris's sword.

His skin prickled with sweat. There was no way he'd be able to strike without getting burned. But even Varric's crossbow bolts failed to pierce its hide. Fenris's position was ideal. Besides, he'd be covered in burn scars from previous battles with dragons, if not for Anders' healing. The abomination had better be ready. 

Screaming a war cry of his own, Fenris braced himself in the plummeting dragon's path.

Steam billowed as the water and ice thrown over the town vaporized in dragonfire. The thatched roofs blazed. The building next to Fenris erupted in flame, blasting his left side with splintered wood. He swayed with the impact but held his stance. As Smaug passed overhead, Fenris leaped straight up with his sword raised.

The jolt of his blade punching through scales almost ripped the weapon from his hands. A long tear opened in the dragon's armor. The monster's neck curved down to bathe its attacker in fire, but it kept moving forward. Something in Fenris's weak wrist stretched, then snapped. He fell through dragonfire to the blazing street below.

He hit the street on his stomach, but turning his head to the side at the last moment saved his teeth. The impact knocked the sword from his grasp and the air from his lungs. The burning leather in his armor smelled like in the Templars' fire.

He'd barely begun to panic when cold lake water sloshed over his back, smothering the flames. "Thank... you..." he said between coughs.

"Rrrrruff!"

Fenris rolled onto his side and got a facefull of dog breath. Gamlen Junior stood next to an overturned bucket, wagging his tail and grinning his enormous canine grin. The Mabari was smarter than anybody gave him credit for.

The dragon roared overhead again, a street over. Houses kindled into an instant conflagration. Hawke and the other defenders fired another useless volley. Some civilians dashed from house to house, rescuing children and the infirmed hidden inside. Others boarded boats or leapt into the lake. On the dragon's third pass, several of Hawke's archers threw down their bows and joined them.

With his breath back and his chest aching, Fenris retrieved his sword and followed the Mabari to Hawke's side. They were more alike than he cared to admit, himself and the hound. Blood from a cut behind his hairline trickled into his eye. He automatically wiped it away with his right hand, and grunted at a stab of pain from the wrist. Closing the fist hurt, sharp and deep. 

The mages looked too busy slinging ineffective ice at Smaug to heal him. After a few seconds Anders glanced at him and spun his staff to free a hand for a spell. Fenris grimaced as his wounds closed and magic tugged cracked ribs back together.

Hawke wasn't firing with the other archers anymore, but she still held an arrow to her bowstring. The dragon was flying over again, scouring the town in flame. It was lower than ever, and lining up to fly right over them. 

"What are you waiting for?" Fenris asked.

############

Soft white light lit the outer edges of smoke over Lake-town. A sliver of moon rose above the ruins of the chantry. Hawke ignored everything else - the awkward position of Fenris's injured arm, the retreating archers, the heat - and focused on the gash in the dragon's underbelly. She had about two breaths before Smaug cooked them all.

She inhaled once, held her breath, and took the shot.

Her arrow hit true, not in the center of the wound but its edge. It disappeared into the creature's left breast. The dragon's shriek hurt her ears. Burning trees on the shore toppled. 

Lake-men screamed as they saw that the beast was now tumbling straight toward the town. "Oh, shit," said Hawke. "Run!" 

The few remaining archers had had enough. Most dropped their bows to dive into the water. She located her companions to make sure they were moving. Then the dragon crashed on Lake-town.

Splintered wood, lake water, and steam fountained up around them in a deafening roar of destruction. The street tipped up before them, becoming a steep and slippery incline. Bethany skidded downward past Hawke, shrieking, and Hawke caught her by the shoulder of her robe. The robe was already soaked, making Bethany heavier than expected. 

One of the buckets used to wet down the streets bounced off of Hawke's helmet. She lost her balance, and both she and Bethany slid down toward the roiling lake. The great dragon's tail writhed beneath the surface, crushing boards and churning the steaming water.

Hands closed around her arm and Bethany's. Fenris roared in effort or pain as he stopped their descent. He'd braced himself on the corner of a wall, now nearly horizontal as Lake-town collapsed. The lyrium in his skin glowed blue through the steam. Hawke caught Bethany's boot and shoved her on to the wall, then clambered up after her. All three of them ran to its edge and jumped.

It was a long swim to the shore. Anders sank more than once, weighed down by his waterlogged coat. The first time, Hawke pulled him up as soon as his head disappeared from view. The second, she tugged the heavy garment half off his shoulders. "Hey, no! I can manage," Anders sputtered. "I'll freeze out there without it."

"Get to land first, would you?" said Hawke. "If you drown, I'm leaving your carcass to rot with the dragon's." 

She had enough trouble helping Bethany dogpaddle. Despite six years beside a major harbor, her sister never learned to swim. Thanks to the blasted Templars, Bethany only saw the ocean the year they arrived and on their way out of Kirkwall. At least Gamlen Junior looked to be having a good time snapping at the waves he paddled through.

At last they flopped like fish on the shore of Long Lake. Hawke counted her companions and accounted for all of them. "Well. Let's not do that again."

Bedraggled Lake-men huddled at the water's edge to watch their homes sink beneath the dying dragon. One of the archers turned away from the wreck and saw Hawke. "You live!" He elbowed the woman next to him, distracting her from the steaming rubble. "She's the one who killed Smaug!"

The woman's eyes widened. "The dragonkiller lives!" She shouted for all of the Lake-town survivors to hear. "What's your name, Dragonkiller?"

Hopefully her reputation hadn't stretched so far out of Kirkwall yet. It'd be safer for Bethany and Fenris if they could reach Orzammar as inconspicuous travelers. "Hawke. Just Hawke."

"So mysterious," Varric muttered behind her. She ignored his chuckling.

"Hawke the Dragonkiller! Hawke the Dragonkiller! Hawke the Dragonkiller for queen!" The whole crowd shouted it now, except for one man near the edge of the group. The rich fabrics of his clothing were dry, Hawke noticed enviously. He was wide and soft in the way of aging nobles. He was also scowling at her hard enough to pull a muscle in his face. 

Hawke leaned over to Anders, who was trying to shake the water off his coat. "Who is that?"

He followed her gaze to the noble. "That's the Master. Like the viscount in Kirkwall, but with a much smaller job and a much bigger ego."

"So it's his job they're offering you," said Bethany through chattering teeth.

"There's a thought. I'd make a fine mistress." Hawke grinned at the abject horror on Bethany and Fenris's faces as they realized she was halfway serious. Displaced native humans would make excellent camouflage until they found a way into the Mountain.

The dry, warm noble raised his hands above his head and cried, "In Lake-town we have always elected masters from among the old and wise, and have not endured the rule of mere warriors. Let ‘Queen Hawke' go back to her own dominion, wherever that may be, and any who wish may go with her. The wise will stay here and rebuild our town, in hope to enjoy again its peace and riches."

This did not seem like the kind of crowd which appreciated poetic speeches. Sure enough, they went on shouting "Queen Hawke!" and "Up the Archer, and down with Moneybags!"

"This man makes Kirkwall politicians look competent." Fenris's smirk was unsympathetic to the distraught Master. Hawke grinned back, glad he felt well enough to provide commentary.

"I am the last man to undervalue Hawke the Archer." The Master cast a wary glance at Hawke, her bow, and the elf looming beside her. "She is worthy of many imperishable songs."

"Ooh, I like that idea," murmured Hawke. Merrill giggled. The look Bethany gave them might have shushed a new mage in the Circle, but it stood no chance against a big sister.

"But why do I get all your blame?" the Master asked in a tone which begged listeners to be reasonable. "Who roused the dragon from its slumber? Who lead us to believe that old songs could come true? What sort of gold have the dwarves sent down the river as a reward? Dragonfire and ruin! From whom shall we obtain the recompense of our damages?" Judging by the angry grumbling, the Lake-men were buying what the Master sold. 

"What point is there in blaming them?" Hawke asked. "The dragon wouldn't have left its cave infested with dwarves. Sorry, Varric."

He nodded, mouth in a grim line. "One word: Bartram. We know all about the risks of treasure hunting at the edge of the Deep Roads."

The comment turned a few heads. Yes, the treasure in the thaig was appealing. To Hawke the real treasure would be silverite to heal Fenris. She raised her voice. "People, if we don't get fires lit and shelters built, we'll have nobody to blame for the consequences but ourselves. You heard the Master. None of the songs I know are coming true. Let's make this right ourselves!"

The Master glowered all the more, even though she'd mentioned he was correct about something. Maybe if the muted cheering had come after his little speech, he'd have been better pleased. Hawke didn't make any move to organize the survivors herself. After a few minutes, the Master took charge and directed people toward firewood. 

Several Lake-men made comments along the lines of "The dwarves are dead, the dragon's dead... all the gold's just sitting there!"

"Andraste's flaming knickers!" cried Anders. "What is the draw of treasure in impossible-to-access places?"

"It's only a walk up a mountain," said Merrill primly. "Now there's not even a dragon inside."

Nobody attempted the climb that night. Every survivor of the destruction of Lake-Town was exhausted and cold, at the very least. Some were also burned, wet, and contused from flying debris. Bethany and Anders went to work healing any who would trust them to do so.

Fenris held the injured arm stiff at his side. When Hawke touched his good shoulder she noted a corresponding twitch in the muscles of his jaw. "How much does the arm hurt, in mere mortal terms?"

"It is sore. How it feels in the morning will tell more about the damage."

"Rest, then," Hawke said. He settled on the ground with his back against a tree without a word of protest. Frowning, Hawke added "I just need to check on the others. I won't be long."

The former residents of Kirkwall joined the former residents of Lake-town in lighting fires and setting up shelters. With less than hour between the first dragonfire sighting and Smaug's attack, few provisions had been saved. Nobody had blankets, few had coats, and Anders and Bethany could only heal one person at a time. As Hawke watched, her sister downed a vial of lyrium potion. Unless she'd miscounted, it was the second to last one.

Hawke crept up behind her sister and snatched the empty vial from Bethany's fingers. "You drink like a Templar. Mother would be so disappointed."

"Hey, that's mean!" squawked Bethany.

"Just playing." Hawke grinned at the pink in her sister's cheeks after consuming potions. It satisfied some maternal urge of her own, to keep her kin healthy. "Your family is proud of you, even those of us you can't see every day."

This earned Hawke a raised eyebrow. "Thanks, but that's awfully diplomatic of you. What's going on?"

"Such suspicion, from my own sister!" Hawke tossed the vial, underhand and gently, at Bethany. It bounced off her chest and Hawke had to dive for it before it broke. They weren't exactly in a position to buy more. "But I do need a straight answer about something. What's really wrong with Fenris?"

To Hawke's annoyance, Bethany glanced over her shoulder to where Anders channeled magic to close a gash in a woman's head. "Justice will tell me why Fenris is still in pain. I need to know what is going wrong."

"It's just that he can explain better than me," said Bethany. "Lyrium's poisonous, you know, in pure form. Especially so to mages, but it can damage those without magic too. We've healed the flesh, but the brands are.... inside him."

A headache was forming on either side of Hawke's temples. She held up a finger. "When I come back, I want to hear what you two healers are going to do about that. Tonight." 

"But - the Lake-men - we're at low ebb on mana, and so many are-"

"We already killed their damned high dragon! Shall we throw ourselves in the lake after it, to save them a few more mouths to feed?" Hawke strode into the forest at the lake's edge. 

This was so damnably unfair. Hadn't the poor bastard been through enough? Andraste herself only went through flames once. 

Out of sight of the huddled masses, Hawke selected a target tree. She carried three balanced knives, and she threw each as hard as she could. After the third, she felt calm enough to return to the others without scaring or scarring them.

Magic fire flared to life near the shoreline, where Merrill set a pile of driftwood ablaze. When Hawke was fairly certain she wouldn't lose her eyebrows when she approached, she tapped the elf's shoulder. 

Stone grated as Merrill spun around covered in rock armor. The armor disappeared in a puff of dust as soon as she met Hawke's eyes. "Oh! Sorry. You startled me."

"You're alert! That's healthy." Hawke turned her gaze to the families from Lake-town, huddled under pine boughs and shivering. "Have you ever met the Dalish of Mirkwood?"

"Once or twice, a long time ago," the elf said. "They throw marvelous feasts. Um... Why do you ask?"

"Those feasts would come in handy right now." Hawke pointed out the boatwright's daughter, clinging to her father's pantleg with one hand and the back of a toddler's shirt with the other. The toddler was barefoot and wailing, and the boatwright herself was nowhere to be seen. "I bet most of them never camped in the wilds a night in their lives. Tonight's cold enough for snow, and it'll only get colder."

Merrill frowned sadly at the survivors. "They won't live long out here, you mean."

"Not without help."

The elf's eyes widened to owlish proportions. "I... are you... I can't walk all the way to Mirkwood alone, Hawke!" 

"Have faith in yourself! But you'd make better time if Fenris and I went with you." Merrill's mouth still hung open, so Hawke had yet to make her case. "Bethany and Anders have injured survivors to heal, and Varric has to stay and watch for Templars. Even with two experienced mages, this will be a hard winter. We're going to need help." Hawke had spent too many years protecting Bethany to let her freeze or starve now. 

Merrill managed to get her mouth closed, then said "Alright. I've nothing to pack, anyway. I'm ready when you are." On her way back to Bethany, Hawke checked in Fenris. He'd fallen asleep, propped up against the tree. 

Bethany and Anders waited for her near one of the campfires the Lake-men managed to start. "I see the Ferelden Circle is back together!" Hawke said for the joy of watching Justice flicker blue in Anders' eyes while the rest of his face went red. She was pushing her luck, while her lover's ability to defend himself lay in this mage's hands. "Don't worry, all the Circles must be scattering to the winds as we speak. What are you going to do about Fenris?"

"Nothing, without silverdene." Anders spit out each word. He leaned more heavily on his staff than he had in his Old Ross disguise. "Lyrium poisoning is a slow burn, but burn it will. He's not dead already, though only the Maker knows why. Whatever Bethany and I rebuild dissolves from within." 

Bethany stepped forward to grip Hawke's hands in hers, probably to stop Hawke from throttling Anders as much as to offer comfort. "If we augment the silverdene, and... well, we have to apply it along the brand, but it should work, truly."

"And until then, he'll burn from inside?" Hawke looked down at her sister's hands in hers. For now she and Fenris could do this too, but when would it become too painful?

"Slowly, sister."

Seeing Bethany so sad for them just made Hawk feel worse. She forced a smile. "Those markings burn in all sorts of situations. I doubt he'll even notice a bit more." She met Anders' eyes over Bethany's shoulder. "How long does he have?"

"A few weeks without healing, and he might be in the state he was when you came here." Anders's gaze focused on the way Hawke chewed her lower lip, her old Wicked Grace tell coming back to haunt her. "Where is he going, that he won't be healed?"

"I'm sure the Dalish keeper in Mirkwood can heal him. It should be fine." Hawke was convincing herself as much as the mages. She'd be damned if she sat and watched civilians die and Fenris's beautiful markings eat him alive. "And they'll send supplies, if they want to keep their trade route. Maybe they'll even help us get into the Lonely Mountain. Elves like shiny things, don't they? Or is that dragons?"

"Dragons." Bethany smiled properly for the first time all night.

"We leave at dawn." Hawke released her sister's hands and walked back toward the treeline, to move Fenris closer to a fire.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, Merrill, and the dog beg the Mirkwood Dalish for aid. Stomping through a wilderness full of Dalish elves is Fenris's favorite thing.

Hawke seldom put her needs above those of her friends. Her goodbye to Bethany showed how conscious a choice that could be. Fenris stood outside hearing range. Privacy was a gift to be given or withheld, and he'd give her that, at least.

Fenris curled and uncurled his right hand. Without the markings, it looked like it belonged to someone else. They faded with each healing, but this morning's left bare skin from fingertips to midway up his forearm. The invisible whorls of lyrium still ached. If he drew on them in battle and they did nothing, it might mean his or Hawke's death. To test them, he called their power.

The blue glow sparked deep, far from the surface of his skin. His eyes snapped shut against a cold imitation of the usual lyrium burn. _Frost spell,_ his mind insisted. It was the only comparable sensation. _Defend yourself!_ His hand solidified over his sword hilt, and the frozen cords in his flesh thawed. _What in the Maker's name was that?_

He had time to ponder the question, walking beside the Forest River with Hawke, the witch Merrill, and the Mabari. During the journey he avoided the concentrated will required to tap the lyrium when he wasn't in mortal peril. 

The pain he could bear, but the witch's scrutiny seemed intolerably irritating on top of it. Despite years of his refusal to discuss the marking, Merrill continued to ask about what they could do. She'd attract a truly monstrous demon, should she learn to drain the lyrium's power from him. Not that he'd let her live long if she tried, of course.

After Anders' treatment the morning they left Long Lake, the markings hurt no more than they had in Kirkwall. Each morning those in his injured hand pained him worse than the day before. Though he never mentioned it, Hawke watched him and asked about his health every few hours. She guessed some of the truth. Still, he reached no conclusions. 

Not long after they began their third day's march, the Mabari and Hawke froze mid-step. Hawke clamped a hand over the witch's mouth. Merrill squeaked piteously, but Hawke held a finger to her own lips and caught Fenris's gaze.

He listened. Beneath an abundance of birdcalls, he noticed a gentle rattling of metal, rhythmic as footsteps.

Hawke removed her hand from Merrill's mouth. "Do they know we're here?" she asked the Dalish elf.

Merrill cocked her head. " Mirkwood Dalish speak with birds. They might've been expecting us for days. Or maybe not. Things we call important aren't always interesting to birds." 

Fenris scowled. Spies seldom had good intent for their targets. Hawke brushed her hands over her champion armor, which showed wear after weeks away from a good armorsmith. "They may know _where_ we are, but do they know _who_ we are? Let's introduce ourselves."

"We've a guess as to that," a strange voice commented from behind them.

Fenris drew his sword as he spun to face the threat. Four elves with dark patterns on their faces stood in the path Hawke had carved through the long grass. Light-colored hair fell nearly to their waists, and each held an arrow on their bowstrings. The Mabari growled, but stayed at Hawke's side. Fenris squeezed the sword hilt with his burned hand. The grip felt strong enough to deal with these.

To his utter disgust, Merrill stepped between his blade and the strangers. "Aneth ara!" she chirped. "How wonderful to see you again! I don't suppose you remember me?"

The blond elf in the front lowered his bow. The three flanking him kept their weapons raised. They exchanged puzzled glances among themselves, not unlike the one Fenris and Hawke shared. "You're… Keeper Marethari's First, yes?" said the leader. "From Fereldon?"  
"Yes, the Alerion clan, that's us. Was us, I mean." She ducked her head. Still guilty for the slaughter she caused on Sundermount, apparently. Good.

"Where is the rest of Alerion?" asked the leader.

"And why have you brought this shem to our land?" The woman with her arrow aimed at Hawke's heart asked. The blonde gave her a stern look, and she returned to scowling at her target.

Everyone waited for someone else to explain themselves. Hawke still hadn't drawn her bow, and seemed content with her hands empty. "This shem means you no harm." She smiled innocently, gazing from the river to the rolling grassland on either side. "Are we in your land already? Mirkwood has fewer trees than I expected."

The leader's cool expression thawed a little. He signaled palm-down at the other Dalish to lower their weapons. When all the arrows returned to their quivers, Fenris secured his sword on his back. Gamlen Junior perked his ears up and tentatively wagged his stubby tail. 

"Forgive our caution," the leader said. "Clan Silvan seldom leaves the forest in such numbers, and we've had more trespassers than usual. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil." None of the other elves volunteered their names or parentage. Fenris once prided himself in that professional alertness and deference, when he'd been a bodyguard.

Merrill performed introductions while Legolas led them up a hill with their backs to the river. From the top they gazed over a host of elves, many more than indicated by the rattling they'd heard on the bank. It was the biggest gathering of elves he'd seen outside a slave market. Green and brown armor blended with grass dying slowly over chill autumn nights. Estimating their numbers seemed hopeless.

An enormous aravel drifted behind dark gray halla, red sails reaching for the cloudy sky. Hawke drew in a sharp breath, her gaze fixed on it, and Fenris smiled. She did appreciate cultural novelties. Though they'd seen grounded aravels at Merrill's clan camp, this was their first aravel in "flight." This one was also about twice the size of the ones on Sundermount, like a rolling cottage. Frightened humans in a forest might see floating ships, but the wheels were clear enough in grass.

The vast number of Dalish on foot were of more interest to Fenris. No children walked among them. The few who appeared old by Dalish standards looked tough enough to avail themselves in a fight. Even the elves walking with the halla carried bows or swords. This was no clan shifting campsites. This was an army.

"What brings you so far north?" A surprisingly good question, since the witch was asking.  
"We had news that the high dragon Smaug was slain. When messengers said a human and an elf struck the killing blows, we assumed they mistook a child of Esgaroth for one of the People." Legolas glanced at Fenris's sword. "Now I understand."

"Esgaroth?" Not a name Fenris had heard before.

"Lake-town, shemlen call the place," said one of the unnamed elves. "A dull name." The witch giggled, and the taciturn Dalish bodyguards smiled at her. 

While they descended the hill toward the army, Fenris considered how he might convince Hawke to leave the mage with the Sylvan clan. It wasn't that Merrill hadn't proved useful, in the end. He'd be a smear in the Gallows courtyard if her spell hadn't knocked an attacking statue's arm off. But fewer potential abominations would attract fewer Templars.

Hawke distracted him with her clever tongue, as usual. "That doesn't explain this impressive parade. Lake-town's inn had too few rooms to house so many visitors, even before it sank." 

They entered the disorderly Dalish ranks. Elves gave way to let Legolas through, and shortly they reached the side of the aravel itself. The blond elf's bodyguards joined a contingent surrounding it. 

Legolas ducked under a flapping green pennant and mounted a step on the moving vehicle. "My father will want to meet you." He held open a sheet of heavy canvas over a door and offered his hand to Merrill. She beamed as he lifted her to the step and ushered her inside. 

Legolas looked again to Fenris's sword and Hawke's most obvious knives. "Come, but to threaten the Keeper is to threaten us all." 

"Good to know." Hawke stepped onto the moving vehicle and gazed out over the army. "If I had to threaten each of you individually, I'd be at it for months. Stay out," she added to the Mabari. The hound whined at her, but she said "No, you'll put pawprints all over their nice elfy things." She turned her back on his pleading puppy eyes and ducked into the aravel.

"She jests, about the threats," Fenris said as he climbed aboard. Legolas's hand left his knife hilt, though he still watched Fenris as they passed through the door. Hawke didn't respect anyone who lacked a sense of humor. It had gotten her stabbed before, but she refused to learn.

Windows hung with long curtains lit the aravel's interior. The walls and ceiling curved, as if the vehicle had been carved from one huge tree. Lavish beds which made Fenris tired just to look at them lined the sides. Though they had to walk in single file, the space felt airy and open. They stopped before a throne of smooth, curving wood beneath an archway etched with gold.

On the throne sat an elf with ancient eyes and a carven oak staff. He wore a wreath of berries and red leaves as regally as a monarch wore a crown. 

Legolas ducked his head briefly before speaking. "Father, these are the dragon slayers." 

"Andaran atish'an, warriors," Keeper Thranduil said. "What you have done has brought safety to many travelers and avenged the Lake-men's deaths." Merrill bowed and Hawke followed suit. Fenris didn't bow before people wearing plants on their heads.

"We did the slaying, but we aren't the only survivors," said Hawke. 

"Oh? We heard Esgaroth was destroyed."

"It's gone, all right," Hawke said. "Some of its people reached the southwest shore." She described their battle and the Lake-men's miserable conditions. She finished with "They'll freeze to death if the weather gets much colder. Can you spare anything for them?"

Legolas started to say something, but the Keeper held up a hand. "The humans have lived in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain for many years. They were well aware of the dragon. If they hired hunters to wake it and slay it and lost their town as a result, why should we rescue them?"

"No one hired us," Fenris snapped. Typical, that the Dalish spoke idly of obligation while people outside their clan starved. 

"Then you claim Smaug's treasure for yourselves?"

Hawke's lip twitched. Then she schooled her expression to one Fenris last saw across the Wicked Grace table. "Naturally. We killed him, after all. But since the Lake-men are in such dire need, we're willing to relinquish our claim on all of the gold to you... if you'll send the survivors aid. We'll settle for silverite as payment." 

Merrill's brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Hawke, we never-"

"Of course we relinquish our claim," Fenris said loudly. Merrill glanced between the two of them, but she shut her mouth.

"We do have a surplus, in game and dried foods." Though Legolas spoke to the Keeper, his gaze was on Merrill. She smiled hopefully at him, and he added "Spare cloaks and furs will be harder to come by, but we must have something suitable."

"That's awfully kind of you," Merrill said. "Even enough for the little ones would be a help."

"Though with all Smaug's gold, you could manage enough for everyone," said Hawke. Fenris suppressed a grin. How free she was with treasure they'd only heard of in song.

"Come with me." The blond elf strode past the beds toward the aravel's exit. "We'll see what we can find." Merrill cast a surprised and smiling glance back at Hawke, then shrugged and scampered out after him. 

Two elves from the guard around the aravel stepped inside and took up positions near the door. What they expected to do against Fenris and Hawke he couldn't begin to guess. It was prudent not to leave the clan leader alone with armed strangers.

The Keeper shook his head, smiling after his son like he'd won this round. "Consider this deal concluded, dragon slayers."

Hawke chuckled. "No young love at camp awaiting the treasure-seeking prince's return?"

"Exactly so." The Keeper's gaze sharpened as he focused on Hawke. "Why do you believe that's our purpose in the wilds?"

"Smaug's been underwater for three days." Hawke crossed her arms and let the smile she'd hidden earlier play across her lips. "The maps I've seen put Mirkwood six or seven days from Long Lake, as the human walks. Yet here you are, with no idea that anyone survived the destruction of Lake-town. Unless you need all these fighters to haul the corpse out of the lake for its fire gland, you're going to see what's in that thaig."

Thranduil scowled, and Hawke said "Which is your right, of course, under the terms of our deal. All I ask is that you let us follow along for the silverite. If you find dragonlings or darkspawn inside, we'll help clear them out for free." Fenris looked forward to seeing Varric's face when Hawke told the dwarf this tale later. The dwarf would be so sorry he was left to babysit the mages.

"There is one thing more I would ask, though," she said. Fenris glanced at her sharply, but she was focused on the Keeper.

His expression was as wary as Fenris's. "What is it?"

"Fenris's arm is injured. A mage healed it, but it still pains him. Can you do anything for him?"

Fenris glowered. She should have asked him about this. Circle mages were bad enough. Displaying his weak points to a Dalish apostate, however highly positioned in a clan, invited trouble. Thranduil's face bore a curious smile, as if he'd been hoping for an excuse to touch the markings. That expression on a mage's face always raised Fenris's hackles. 

Thranduil stood, gray robes flowing, and seemed almost instantly to be half a step away from Fenris. The Keeper's staff tapped once on the floor. Fenris tensed, lyrium pulsing in his skin. Hawke laid a hand on his arm, but this was an unfamiliar mage with unpredictable abilities. The Keeper's stare bored into Fenris like a thorn of the merciless natural magic he doubtless commanded.

Still, Fenris was willing to believe in healing magics unknown to Anders. Fenris unstrapped the gauntlet and held out his forearm. The position comforted him. If Thranduil began an offensive casting, Fenris could crush the mage's throat.

"They are extraordinary," murmured Thranduil. "Mage's mithril, lyrium was once called. These are worth a dragon's hoard themselves." Fenris gritted his teeth. Mages were all the same. 

"Alas, they're not for sale," Hawke said. "Can you help him, or not?"

Green sparks glittered in Thranduil's gray eyes. Magic shimmered in the air between the Keeper and Fenris. "I have heard stories of lyrium poisoning." Thranduil's head tipped to the side, as if listening. "Perhaps." 

Without looking away from Fenris's arm, like he saw the markings through the flesh, Thranduil reached to the top of his staff. Sharp steel followed some of its carvings, making a curving blade. The Keeper dragged his palm down its length. The blade shone red.

Fenris's gauntlet clattered on the aravel's floor and he drove forward in a strike at the blood mage's throat. His arm slammed into stone as rock armor rumbled over the mage's body. The Keeper staggered back. 

Hawke gripped Fenris's upper arms and dragged him toward the door. "Stop, damn you, he's on our side."

"He's on a demon's side," Fenris growled. "What have you already promised it in exchange for this?" he asked the Keeper.

Hawke's fingers dragged off his arms. He half turned to avoid putting his back to the blood mage. She fell sideways onto one of the beds. One of the guards by the door flipped a long knife from a pommel strike position to set its point at the base of Hawke neck. The other elf held knives in both hands but had to climb over another bed to attack Fenris.

Thranduil said something in angry Elvish, and magic rasped around Fenris's body. Breath dragged in and out of his lungs, the air sluggish as water. His heart thudded hard with long gaps between beat. Turning his head to face the mage took two of its bruising beats. 

The Keeper peered through his stone armor. "I mean no harm." The words came at normal speed, unafraid but clearly annoyed. "When the magic disperses, go to the rafts. I doubt any other method will return your lyrium to its place. I wish you luck in finding such a thing."

Every muscle strained to throw Fenris at the elf threatening Hawke's life. His lungs ached for breath. Each swirl of his markings lit in excruciating slowness, spreading from a hair's breadth center line to the edge of each pattern. The last of his air swept out in a choked cry, almost inaudible under the Mabari's barking outside. A single heavy heartbeat shook his entire chest.

The magic sloughed off him an instant later. Hawke's deep inhale was as loud as his own. Half-drowned Lake-men crawling onto land could not have been less grateful. Neither he nor Hawke spoke as they were escorted to the Forest River by six well-armed elves.

Once two rafts were loaded with supplies for the Lake-men, they'd have to be shepherded down the river. Hawke volunteered for one, and Fenris and the Mabari went with her. At the riverbank, Hawke looked back to Merrill. The witch seemed unable to keep her eyes and her smile from the Keeper's son. 

Hawke laughed, more for the elf than at her. "We'll see you there, yes?"

Merrill startled like she'd just remembered Hawke's presence. "Oh, yes. I'll be there."

The pain in his hand drove whatever admonition he'd had from his mind. It had grown worse through the day. He chose to attribute it to continued exposure to the Keeper and other Dalish mages. Now he relied on his left arm as he helped Hawke push the raft off the riverbank.

He needn't have bothered trying to hide the trouble. "I swear if I'd known he would use blood magic, I'd have warned you," she said. "If for no other reason than to prevent you from crushing his heart and bringing the whole clan down on us."

"Of course." That tone had been overly sharp, and probably too sarcastic. He risked a glance at her face - yes, that was hurt, though a stranger wouldn't recognize it - then turned to find a place to sit among the bundles of furs and dried food. She'd always been reckless about blood magic. Merrill's hardly bothered her at all, even after what happened to the clan.

"I'm doing the best I can." Hawke used the pole provided for the purpose to nudge the craft toward the middle of the river, behind the second raft of supplies. "We've sat by Long Lake long enough to become a permanent part of the landscape. Soon they'll put us on maps."

"I never demanded that we stay."

"No, you'd prefer to walk until you passed out. Then after a little more walking for some variety, you'd die."

"I am not searching for death!" The loud exclamation drew the eyes of the two elves on the other raft. He glowered at them, daring them to comment, and they turned their attention back to the river. "I've travelled farther, with worse, alone."

"And everything you survived once is worth repeating."

"Neither going or staying would please you, it seems."

"Getting silverite before your arm wastes away would please me!" Hawke brandished the dripping pole like she'd bash him in the head with it. At the suspicion she must have seen in his face, she lowered it to the water again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but… I'm telling you now."

##############

Fenris' first impulse at hearing the explanation of the cold agony was to turn from her. _Even now, I am chained._ But he recognized the futility of this, now, while Hawke breathed a sharp sigh and returned her attention to the raft's path. Her shadow and the pole stretched out before them, a vindictive mage and his staff. But Danarius was dead, and the choice to accept the markings had once been Fenris's own.

"You should have told me when you found out."

"You were asleep. What good would waking you have done?"

"None. That shouldn't have stopped you." What was he to say? Lovers shouldn't keep that kind of secret? Admit to his pointless worrying about his abilities as her defender? Tell her he saw the strain of keeping this secret, when she kept so few others?

She set the pole down in the middle of the raft on her way to stand nose to nose with him. "Nobody heals without hope."

"Ignorance cures only the madness of knowledge, and then only for a time."

"Oh, honestly, that was in that book we read together," said Hawke. "Mine was original. I gave it a few moments' thought and replaced words and everything."

The Champion of Kirkwall, demanding praise like a child. "Which words?"

"I started with ‘survives,' which seemed a bit dire. Also I might replace ‘hope' with ‘wine.'" Her boot thumped one large barrel next to them. "You and the Keeper have that in common, I think."

After her early days in Kirkwall opening random barrels and sifting through them for valuables, Hawke made short work of prying the top off the one she'd kicked. It contained dried apples, but the next one actually did contain wine. She cut an apple in half, cut out the core and dropped it into the river, and dipped each half into the wine barrel. She handed one to him as she settled next to him, pressed against him from hip to knee.

Fenris looked from the tiny, shriveled cup to her and back, and she shrugged. "Quality over quantity. We used to do this every fall, in Fereldon."

He swallowed his portion in a gulp. Mirkwood wine tasted of berries, though not a kind he'd ever eaten. Its aftertaste was smoke of sweet wood, if such a thing were possible. He dipped the apple cup into the barrel again. "Also true of life."

The sunset painted the sky gold and scarlet, and they watched in silence as the river carried them away from it. Yet another place he'd never expected to be, with Hawke at his side. An owl called. This was nothing like the last trip he'd taken with Danarius. Only the pain in his hand reminded him of it.

Much closer to Hawke murmured "Life would improve substantially in quality if you kissed me." 

Last rays of the setting sun glinted from her armor and her bow when she set it aside on the raft. As ever, she lit the dark world around her. He caressed her with the wounded hand, careful with the points of the gauntlets near her eyes. The red cloth tied to it made her skin glow more warmly than his lyrium ever would. He'd never let pain master him. Nothing would keep him from her.

And apparently he was taking too long to follow instructions. She leaned in to meet him, lips soft and tasting of apples and wine. He'd lost track of the apple cup she'd made him. He slipped out of the sword's strap and set it on the opposite side from her bow. If enemies appeared, they could reach the weapons without running into each other. Kneeling between her thighs and lost himself in the smell of her, a wild scent in a wild place.

The current spun the heavy raft in a slow circle, the way Hawke stroked his lower back and hip. The sun set entirely. Warm nights of the past had taught him where he was most needed. His mouth drifted down her throat, fingers unfastening the collar of the armor to touch skin. They'd encountered nothing of danger on the trip out, and provisions provided cover on three sides. Surely she didn't need so much armor now.

She arched into him, boots scuffing the planks of the raft as he lingered over a sensitive spot. Her fingers clenched at his hips and pulled, but he stood his ground. Though his body urged him otherwise, there was no rush. They seldom found room and time for themselves, without a battle to fight or a mage to ignore. 

He couldn't seem to be close enough to her. Her energetic tugs at his armor's leather fastenings only made the longing worse. He pulled a few of her armor straps open. Closing the fingers of the right hand sent jolts of pain up his arm. The third was so much stronger than the others that his markings snapped to life in response. He and Hawke gasped together, himself at the lyrium's burn. 

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful like that," she whispered. He studied her partially unlaced armor as he caught his breath. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He sank back against the wine barrel, pulling her with him. Though it was satisfying to move her where he wanted her and hold her there, the weight of her on his thighs and the way she squirmed to settle herself drew a moan of desire from him. Their bodies came together more naturally than with the fleeting lovers in his past. Hawke was unique, and he wanted no other, so long as he lived.

##############

Varric was sorry to be the babysitter, and not just because he missed the wheeling and dealing. Hawke and Fenris took Gamlen Junior and rode east on the supply rafts while Merrill walked back with the Dalish.

The dwarf was near the head of the crowd when they arrived, and he had barely a word of greeting before the proverbial fireball exploded. "Sunshine's going up the Mountain with half the surviving Lake-men, and there's nothing Blondie or I can do to change her mind."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside Erebor, at long last. Also return of the M rating, just to be safe.

Bethany paced before the lean-to she shared with three hens and their nest of dry leaves. Hawke was treated to that tale as soon as she arrived on the raft of donated supplies. The sisters to wait a couple of days for the host from Mirkwood to arrive. 

"Just because you rise with the chickens and Dalish doesn't mean everybody does." Hawke yawned at the clucking hens. The birds somehow survived the destruction of Lake-town and a week's famine without being burned, drowned, or eaten. Beyond them, the Lake-men shuffled blearily toward them with spears, bows, and a few swords. The Dalish waited nearby, armed, armored, and alert.

Bethany strode northward, fearless as holy Andraste herself, the moment the Lake-men all faced the same direction. For several breaths Keeper Thranduil, Hawke, and her friends just stared. Then Hawke ran to catch up, trailed by Fenris and Gamlen Junior. With a great rattling of armor and clattering of shields and spears, the humans and elves followed. 

"What's gotten into you?" Hawke demanded. "It'd better not be Anders. I'll not have his whiny brat for a niece or nephew." 

"No, it isn't him." To Hawke's horror, Bethany's cheeks flushed. "He's been… well, he's been worried, of course. The Templars weren't kind when they caught him before." 

Poor Anders, the Victim Mage, whose name made her sister _blush_. She'd have to have another talk with him.

"Is it the cold?" asked Merrill. "I was awfully bothered by the cold, until Legolas gave me this beautiful cloak." She wrapped the gray-brown fabric around herself with both hands. The contended look on the elf's face brought a smile to Hawke's. Being hunted didn't mean they had to be alone. If only Bethany had chosen a nice Lake-man...

Bethany wore a cloak of her own, though she spent less time cuddling it. "All these poor people talk about is the treasure in the thaig. They've lost everything, and they think they can get it all back with enough gold. It's _pitiful_."

"And familiar," said Hawke.

Her sister sighed. "That too. I'm tired of watching them suffer when we can do something about it. Let's go."

Fenris, healed for now, trudged along at her side. The periods of peace between healings seemed to last fewer hours every day. Still, he worked hard not to show his discomfort, and she chose not to mention it. 

Instead, she talked to the expert. "Varric, what's the plan of attack here?"

"High dragons kill everything in their layers, and we killed the high dragon." The dwarf shrugged. "At least we can be sure the front gates won’t cave in. Can’t say the same for side entrances."

They circled Long Lake to the north. An hour past the mouth of the River Running the grass died away to rugged, blackened earth. Only stone broke the barren landscape as they climbed the foothills of the mountain. A few ravens flew overhead, to and from the Lonely Mountain. None landed.

To Hawke, battle meant short and vicious strikes by herself and a small group of friends, not long marches with an army of eyes on her back. Yet with all those eyes, only she noticed movement in the desolation. "What's that up ahead?"

Merrill squinted uphill, and after a moment pronounced, "Ponies. What can they be doing up there?"

"The Lake-men sent ponies with supplies for the dwarves, the day they left," said Anders. "I bet they're starving. There's not a blade of grass around for miles."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Hawke. "They're not much bigger than those cats you used to fatten with milk. Go rescue them!"

"I'll help," Bethany said. Gamlen Junior followed, tail wagging. The ponies' heads came up when they heard his bark. He'd probably enjoy chasing them down the mountainside.

"Strange, that they'd survive all this," said Varric. "A pony would have made a tasty morsel for Smaug."

As they neared the slope the ponies traversed, the rumble of water on stone reached their ears. "That's right, I remember this," Varric said. "You follow the path up to the gates, and they're over a waterfall. Merchants used to talk about setting up booths on either side of the river. The waterfall was so loud they'd go hoarse from shouting and leave after a day or two."

The ponies barely made it to the trailhead without brushing their flanks against the cliff face. An army would bunch up between boulders, and Thranduil's aravel would lose its wheels. "Camp here!" Hawke bellowed to the people waiting behind her, hoping they'd at least quit gawping. 

To her amazement, the humans busied themselves lighting fires and setting up tents from the elves. The Keeper signaled from the aravel, and Clan Silvan did the same. Why did people wait to be told to do things which seemed so obvious?

By the time everyone was settled and Bethany and Anders comforted the ponies with dried apples and blankets, night had fallen. Ascending the narrow path in the dark was a recipe for twisted ankles. As Hawke fell asleep, the cold wind swirled down the mountain, singing words she couldn't quite decipher. I've been spending far too much time with the Dalish.

############

"Please…"

Hawke's eyes snapped open in darkness, though the rest of her body remained still. 

"Please…" Fenris groaned again. Hitching breath and the fact that even his burned hand clenched in a fist told her which nightmare this was. 

She rolled over to grip his upper arm. This dream hurt to hear. "I'm here. Fenris, I'm here, don't-"

"Please let me die." His voice always cracked the third time. Her heart broke with it.

She gave him a hard shove, pushing off his dead weight to leap to the far corner of the tent. The lyrium in his skin flared. With a wrecked gasp he lashed out, punching a crater into the earth where Hawke had slept. He cried out and curled over the burned hand.

Several moments later he focused on her, crouching a few steps away. The lyrium glow dimmed and his shoulders slumped. He rested his forehead on his good arm, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Did I…?" he asked the ground.

"No. And that patch of dirt will never bother anyone ever again." 

Scuffing her feet so he'd hear her, she returned to his side. She brushed her fingertips over his bare shoulder. The lyrium pulsed, but faintly, so she pressed harder. Fenris settled on his stomach as she kneaded his shoulders. This nightmare tightened every muscle he had. At least he didn't try to apologize anymore. 

"How is it?" she asked.

"Healing would be… welcome." Well, she'd never heard him say that without steel in his gut. She applied more pressure to a knot in the meat of his shoulder, drawing a low rumble out of him. "Later."

############

The next morning when Hawke asked for volunteers to scout out the path ahead, Fenris stepped forward. He'd already delved into the Deep Roads with her once. He'd not stay behind while she approached them again, especially since she went for his sake.

"I'll go," said Varric. "Dwarven architects tend to hide our doors."

"Anders, you too." Hawke wanted a healer, Fenris supposed, but Anders seemed a poor choice. The Deep Roads brought Justice too close to the fore for Fenris's liking. The mage shared a long look with Bethany before he climbed up to join them.

Gamlen Junior raced back and forth on the path before them. The hound apparently reveled in the cold climate, despite his short coat. As they hiked, Hawke's choice of mages became clearer. "So," she said to Anders. "You and Bethany."

Anders squawked like one of Bethany's chickens. "Me? And… me?"

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed," Hawke shouted over the waterfall's roar. The mage had the decency to look guilty. "You two spend too much time together fussing over Fenris's arm for you to…"

The path had changed to stairs while they climbed, and they'd just crossed the last threshhold. But instead of a river and a courtyard for merchants as Hawke had expected, the path opened on a large pool. Stones partially dammed the river at the waterfall's mouth. Beyond them, the gates where the river poured from the mountain were blocked with stone too. The rocks were piled too precisely in the center of both areas to have been dropped by the battering of an angry high dragon.

"We're not alone," Fenris growled.

A voice cried from somewhere behind the blocked gates. "Who are you that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain?"

"I'll be a nug's uncle," said Varric. "They're alive!"

"We're armed for darkspawn and dragonlings," Hawke shouted. "Would you come out here to talk? It's a bit cold to swim your moat."

"Who are you, and of what would you speak?" said the voice behind the gates.

"I'm called Hawke. We met in the inn in Lake-town, before my friends and I took care of your winged pest problem. That monster sank the whole town!"

"The people of Lake-town need shelter, as they offered you when you came, and help rebuilding." Anders, or Justice, never stopped asking for more. "Some of Smaug's horde is owed to them, if not us. The beast probably stole some of it from them."

"You put your worst cause last," the voice said. "Smaug stole more than treasure from us. He took our lives. Our homes. We shall repay the Lake-men for their assistance, in good time. But we will give nothing under threat of an army on our doorstep. What part of the treasure would you have given our next of kin, if you'd found us dead?"

"That's got to be Thorin," Varric muttered. "None of the other dwarves I met in Lake-town were that pompous."

"A just question," Anders shouted back. "But you are not dead, and we are not robbers. We're asking for your help, and you've more than enough wealth to give it." The Lake-men must have convinced him of the treasure's existence while he lived with them.

"I won't parlay with warriors at our gates," Thorin replied, "nor with the Dalish Keeper, whom I remember with small kindness. Begon, ere our arrows fly!"

"Maker's breath, who talks like that?" Varric cradled Bianca in his arms, loaded but not raised to fire yet.

"The Keeper already helped us out. We're practically neighbors," Hawke called to Thorin. "All we want is silverite. What if you spared, say, one twelfth of the treasure to help the Lake-men, we scrape some silverite from your floors, and we call this even?"

An arrow whistled out from above the gate. Before Anders could cast anything Hawke threw herself backwards in a flip only a rogue would attempt. The arrow grazed her cheek as it flew past, into the mist above the waterfall. She landed in a crouch. The heels of her boots hung over the cliff's edge.

Heedless of another volley, Fenris ran to pull her from the cliff. They retreated until the mountainside shielded them from the gate. "Did you see that?" Hawke was grinning, despite the blood flowing over her cheek and throat. 

A hand's breadth lower, and she'd be dead. " _Venhedis!_ " Fenris bellowed at the unseen archer. "Stay there and starve." Between the Dalish and the Lake-men, they had a large enough army to lay siege to the thaig. Unless the dwarves could eat gold they'd have to come out sometime, leaving the way into the mountain clear.

"I don't know what you told the Keeper to get the Lake-men's supplies," Varric said to Hawke as they retreated down the path, "but how about you leave negotiations with treasure-addled dwarves to me? I usually don't get us shot at."

############

They spent the next few days searching for doors while Bethany gathered equipment required in the making of silverdene and Merrill organized supply runs to the lake shore and Mirkwood. Fenris's siege was fine for trapping recalcitrant dwarves in an empty thaig, but Smaug's desolation left little for the humans and elves to eat either.

As they were approaching camp after the sun set on another fruitless search, something splashed in the stream they followed. All of them froze in place. "Did that sound like a fish to you?" Varric asked.

They drew weapons. Gamlen Junior barked ferociously, but Merrill's torch showed only bare earth and rock. "I wonder if it's the dwarves' servant. That invisible creature with a cold?" she asked.

"Servant, indeed!" The speaker sneezed, and Gamlen Junior bounded toward the sound. "No no, no need for dogs!" The voice squeaked. "I'm right here, if you want me." And from behind a rock stepped the curly-haired hobbit. At the inn he hadn't been quite so shiny. Beneath a tattered blue jacket, armor wrapped him head to toe and shone silvery white in the torchlight.

"Oh, it is him! You'd have to be invisible, to get past Dalish sentinels. And my goodness, that's a lot of mithril." The happy trill in Merrill's voice showed Gamlen Junior that the hobbit was a friend. He gave Bilbo a big lick in the face before trotting away. Varric replaced Bianca on his back and Hawke lowered her bow. Fenris still held his sword.

The hobbit retrieved a pocket handkerchief and vigorously rubbed dog slobber from his cheeks. The cloth did little to dry his pants and bare feet from his fall in the stream. "Yes, I'm Mr. Bilbo Baggins, companion of Thorin. I know your Keeper, by sight, anyway. I particularly want to see the one called Hawke."

Hawke stepped into Merrill's torchlight. "Well, you see me now. Your companion tried to kill me the other day. I hope you're a better conversationalist."

"Otherwise you'll answer to me," Fenris growled.

Bilbo sagged away from him, more in exhaustion than fear. "I have only an hour or two to spare. If you ever wish to leave this cheerless place, you'll get me to a fire and the Keeper. I haven't time to explain more than once."

Hawke shrugged at Fenris. "Look at him shiver. What harm can he do?"

Fenris grudgingly slung his weapon onto his back. "Never judge an enemy by how small and cold they are." Laughing, Hawke led the way into camp.

Once wrapped in a dry blanket and seated by a campfire across from Keeper Thranduil, Bilbo adopted a serious expression Hawke had trouble taking, well, seriously on someone the size and shape of a child. "Personally I am tired of the whole affair," the hobbit said. "But I have an interest in the matter." He extracted a folded piece of paper from his jacket. Unfolded, the paper was longer than Bilbo was tall. Hawke held the top edge above her head to keep the last paragraphs out of the fire.

"One fourteenth share?" Varric said. "Your negotiating skills need practice, friend."

"A share in the profits, mind you," said Bilbo. "I am only too willing to consider your claims and deduct what is right from the total. But you don't know Thorin Oakenshield as well as I do now. He is quite ready to sit on a heap of gold and starve, as long as you sit here."

"Let him," Fenris snarled. "Such a fool deserves to starve." Hawke glanced over at him. He held his arm stiff at his side again. The pain made him pricklier than usual.

"Quite so," said Bilbo graciously. "But before long we will have snow and whatnot, and supplies will be difficult - even for elves, I imagine. Also, have you heard of Dain and the dwarves of the Iron Hills?"

"A long time ago." Thranduil frowned. "What has he to do with us"

"I see I have some information you have not." Bilbo seemed immensely relieved. "Dain, I may tell you, is two days' march off with five hundred dwarves with him. A good many of them have experience fighting darkspawn in the dreadful Blight. When they arrive there may be serious trouble."

Hawke just shook her head. "Perhaps you've noticed we're up to our eyeballs in elves?" The Keeper brought enough archers to drop five hundred dwarves before they came in range to harm anyone. "Not to sound ungrateful, but why tell us?"

Fenris leaned forward, encroaching on Bilbo's personal space. "Are you betraying Thorin, or trying to threaten us?"

"Don't be so hasty!" The hobbit squeaked. "I've never met such suspicious folk. Now, I will make you an offer."

At a stern glance from Hawke, Fenris backed off. "Let's hear it," she said.

"You may see it!" From within his jacket Bilbo withdrew a massive gemstone. In the firelight its white glow made his mithril armor dull as iron in comparison. All conversation ceased. 

"The Arkenstone of Thrain," he murmured as if he too were mesmerized. "The Heart of the Mountain, and of Thorin as well. He values it above rivers of gold. I give it to you, to aid in your bargaining." The hobbit stood and offered it to Hawke with trembling hands. This would get them all the silverite in the mountain, enough to heal a hundred burn victims. A thousand.

Hawke may have stared for years before Bethany asked, "How is this yours to give?" Hawke let out a breath she'd held since the stone touched her palms. Only her practical sister would ignore the thrall of the biggest gem in Thedas.

"Oh, well!" The hobbit shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable. "It isn't, exactly. I'm willing to let it stand against my claim. They call me a burglar, but I'm an honest one, more or less." He heaved a sigh, then nodded once with an air of determination. "Anyway, I'm going back now. The dwarves can do what they like with me."

Keeper Thranduil stared at Bilbo. "You are more worthy to wear the armor of elf princes than many who have looked more comely in it." Laughter broke whatever spell the Arkenstone cast over them. Hawke wrapped the gem in an off-color pelt and stowed the bundle in her backpack. 

"It's admirable and all, but I doubt Thorin's interested in bargaining," said Hawke. "Wouldn't you rather stay here?"

"Thank you very much, I'm sure." Bilbo bowed. "But I oughtn't leave my friends like this, after all we've been through. And I promised to wake old Bombur at midnight! Really, I must be going."

Hawke's own companions seemed to lean a little closer to her. "Let me walk you partway, at least? I'd hate to see you drowned or lost. Fenris, Varric, Anders, you too." 

Bethany glared, like she understood that Hawke worried less while Anders followed her, since then he wasn't following her. Hawke waited until the noble hobbit passed by her to stick her tongue out.

They escorted him through the camp. The hobbit walked proudly, ignoring the stares of humans and elves. But when an old man in a gray cloak and hat approached, there was no ignoring him. He strode up to Bilbo, leaning a little on his staff, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, Mr. Baggins! There is always more about you than anyone expects."

"Gandalf!" Bilbo spread his arms wide like he might hug the old geezer. His questions blended unintelligibly with Hawke's queries about who the man was, and Fenris's challenge of the man's presence in camp.

"All in good time!" said Gandalf. "Things are drawing towards the end now, unless I am mistaken. You may come through all right. News is brewing. Good night!"

############

Fenris walked toward Bilbo and Hawke, but Anders stood gaping like he'd glimpsed the Maker himself. "Um. Excuse me, I'm sorry, but are you the Gandalf?" Anders asked. "The wandering wizard?"

A staff was never just a walking stick. Fenris halted, hand on his sword. He didn't draw it because Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow as if he strongly advised against it. "Those are two names people call me." The old mage did not smile, though he sounded pleased to be recognized. Perhaps he hid his smile behind his dwarflike beard.

"It is _so_ good to meet you!" Anders turned to Fenris. "Gandalf fled the Circle as a child, and the Templars never found him. He's a legend."

"Apostates are not so strange a thing, these days," said Fenris.

"No, I imagine free mages are common in the Imperium." This time the twinkle in the old mage's eye was unmistakable. As was Fenris's accent, apparently. "The south has more need of ones willing to fight for the good of others."

"How right you are," said Anders. 

Gandalf glanced shrewdly at the younger mage. "If that's your view, I wonder if you might assist me with a project of mine."

Anders looked self-important enough to start preening his feathered coat. "Anything! How can I help?"

"I have heard rumors. Rumors which need proving, and soon. I fear the endeavor will take you from your friends for several days."

"You can manage with Bethany, can't you?" Anders' s tone was somewhere between imploring and disdain.

"Running away on the eve of battle?" If Hawke were determined to be caught up in this conflict, the best healer should be at her side. However much Fenris wished otherwise, that was Anders. A small, animal part of his mind took him back to Bethany's exhaustion just keeping him alive after the Templar interrogation, let alone dulling pain.

"I still have hopes of a peaceful resolution," said Gandalf. "But things may get a good deal worse before they are better."

"Go, then." One less mage to worry about. Fenris turned his back on them to catch up with Hawke.

To his surprise, she was just returning. "That little fellow really is invisible when he wants to be," she said. "It's like magic!" She was looking at Fenris as she spoke, and bumped right into Gandalf. "Oh Maker, excuse me," she said quickly, catching the old man's arm to hold him up and straightening his rumpled robes. 

Fenris smirked at the appalled expression on Anders' face. His hero was human after all, and not a hero to everyone.

############

The morning the Dain's dwarves were expected dawned cold and misty. Hawke was awake to see it, as she, Bethany, and Fenris had been awake much of the night. Despite her sister’s best efforts, the brands still burned beneath Fenris's skin. The wounded hand bore dark lines of desiccated flesh, thick shadows of the markings themselves.

Another look at them was all she could bear. "I'll be back," she whispered. Fenris opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and nodded. The grim set of his jaw made her smile, more in sympathy than amusement. "You always expect the worst." She brushed hair heavy with sweat off his forehead. Then she slung her backpack onto her shoulders and stalked out of the tent.

Gamlen Junior bounced around her as she picked her way around sleeping elves and Lake-men. "Yes, walkies!" she told the gigantic hound. "Who knows what you'll get to chew on next?"

The sun through the mist lit the camp in shades of blue and gray. As she approached Thranduil's aravel, the Keeper’s bodyguards raised hands, though not weapons, to stop her. "Is His Bloodiness awake?" she asked. "I have a gift for him."

"His what?" Merrill's head and shoulders appeared out of the rear entrance to the aravel. It was good to see that she and Legolas got along so well.

"Jokes aren't funny when explained by someone and to someone who doesn't find them amusing," Hawke said. "Come down here."

Merrill ducked out of the aravel and grimaced as she stepped onto the frost-covered ground. With a glance around at the bodyguards, Hawke pulled the wrapped Arkenstone from her backpack. "Give this to the Keeper, with my compliments. Tell him to use it to get either Thorin or Dain to see sense. Thorin will start shooting first. Stick close to Gamlen Junior and that pretty prince of yours. I doubt Thranduil will put him in the thick of it."

The Arkenstone seemed massive in Merrill's delicate hands. "I… where are you going?" Not offering to go along. She belonged here, in mist and morning light with an aravel's red sails behind her.

"Thorin and his emaciated friends and relations will have to come out when Dain's people arrive. I intend to be ready when they do."

All that remained was to rouse the others. She woke Varric first. Fenris was unable to sleep at all. When offered his right gauntlet, he shook his head and looked away. Bethany grumbled, but Gamlen Junior licked her face until she stood to escape him. Soon Hawke had them all armed, armored, and moving. She walked next to Fenris, providing the support she could.

They took the long way around, up and over the gate. The makeshift apothecary equipment procured from the elves and washed-up remains of Lake-town clattered like Templars in plate mail. This direction offered no apparent way inside. No dwarves interrupted Hawke's search for a hiding place and a secure spot to tie a rope. The one she found gave them an excellent view of the pool above the gate, and far below the dark mass of the elven and human army.

"Now we wait," Hawke whispered to the others. Sound carried oddly in this place, and an echo would be most inconvenient. "I'll take first watch." Her sister curled up against a stone and fell asleep again. Varric couldn't seem to find a comfortable spot. 

Fenris watched Hawke from beneath drooping eyelids. "What do you hope to accomplish from here?"

"You'll notice these illustrious experts in silverdene compounding?" She generously included Gamlen Junior in her wave from Bethany to Varric. The Mabari was too busy scratching himself to appreciate this. "We're going to practice a little combat healing in the thaig. Well, hopefully the combat will be outdoors, but preparation pays."

Fenris looked stunned. "I thought we lacked the ingredients."

"In Lake-town, yes. I've been bartering since then." At the elf's raised eyebrow, she admitted "Alright, some bartering, some petty theft. But Anders' old mage friend was carrying Silent Plains rose root, of all things. That seems like a good substitute for comfrey."

"Because they're both roots?" Varric grinned. "If that's all there is to potionmaking, I'm in the wrong business."

"Apothecaries would be paupers without adventurers to fetch ingredients." Hawke ignored Varric's "this is a terrible idea" expression. They were out of time to wait for best cases. Maybe Fenris bore the embedded markings easily, but Hawke couldn’t watch him suffer much longer.

############

Every muscle in Fenris's body was tensed as if they all fought the pain by exertion. The burned arm trembled. He'd have to rely on the markings in his other hand for combat if it came to that. The greatsword was useless to him now.

Even in Danarius's service, he had never been punished in a way that kept him from defending his master. Perhaps he'd find a one-handed weapon in the thaig.

A second dark mass of military forces approached the first in the valley below Erebor. They were too far away to hear what was said. Something glinted, white and clear, in the hand of larger force's leader.

Trumpets, possibly the ones which heralded Smaug's approach, blared from the army of humans and elves. "Gamlen Junior, go to Merrill," Hawke whispered. The dog whined. "I'll come back. I promise." The Mabari wuffed unhappily but retraced their steps down the mountainside.

A haze of arrows launched from the dwarven forces. Several flew from the opening in the gate below them. They knew where Thorin and company was now. And then darkness rose over the battlefield. Winter thunder on a wild wind rolled roaring up and shook the Mountain beneath them. Lightning struck its peak. Magic writhed through the air. Had Dain's men brought a mage, or was this Thranduil's blood magic at work? 

"Perfect!" Hawke announced cheerfully. Fenris was gratified to note that Bethany, at least, joined him in wondering if Hawke lost her mind. Varric just looked resigned. 

She tugged the rope she'd secured to a boulder, then held her arm out to Fenris. "Come on. I'll help you down."

The dwarves walked right under them, heading for the path to the base of the Mountain. Hawke and Fenris dropped in behind them, behind the blocked gate, and climbed to the ground. 

When Varric landed, last, he glanced around and shouldered Bianca. "It's eerie how much this place looks like Orzammar. Smells worse, though." He walked off along the main corridor. "Huh, they start the stairs earlier here. That must have played hell during construction. One wrong step is a one way trip to the deepest mine." His voice trailed off as he turned off at a side tunnel. 

Hawke shrugged at the others. "Follow the leader." Bethany lit the end of her staff with magefire, and Hawke slipped an arm under Fenris's.

With her walking so close, he asked in the barest of shamed whispers, "How far?"

"We should find someplace Thorin and the others wouldn't retreat to, or run through to someplace else. With luck, we'll find silverite on the way."

They nearly tripped over the stuff. It stuck out of the middle of one of the curving corridors Varric selected. The tapping as Hawke extracted it echoed off the tunnel walls and into the huge stairways behind them. Fenris concentrated on breathing, because if he concentrated on his burning hand he’d go mad.

Hawke was almost finished collecting the silverite when something else echoed back. "darkspawn," Bethany whispered. "I never forgot that sound."

"I did, after months of effort," Hawke said. "Thanks for reminding me. Ha!" She added as a large chunk of silverite came free from the floor. "Is this enough?"

Varric shrugged. "As you'll recall, I've never done this before."

Darkspawn charged them a moment later. One of the hurlocks died with a rusted longsword in its hand. Fenris spun the weapon to test its weight. The balance was terrible. If he blocked with it, it would crack.

He caught Hawke smiling at him. "Yes?"

"I forgot how big your greatsword is. You look like you're holding a sewing needle."

"It's about as sturdy," Fenris agreed. Another hurlock came howling around the corner. He loosed his fury at the pain, at the Templars, at the inefficiency of healing magic with his strike. The hurlock's head bounced off one wall and its body slouched against the opposite one. He wiped a splatter of tainted blood off his chin with the back of his hand. The other throbbed. "It will do."

Before they found a defensible storeroom to start mixing the silverdene, they'd fought four more waves of darkspawn. Fenris's hand was on fire. He struggled to remember a time when it wasn't. The lines of lyrium were white hot. The blackened flesh still had nerves enough to tell him so. Sweat stung his eyes, though the wind chilled his skin where the leather exposed it. The blazing, unending pain was swiftly eroding what pride remained to him. His arm bumped the doorway as Hawke led him through, and his world shattered into agony. "Please…" he moaned. "Let me-"

"You'd better be asking for a rest break." She knelt beside him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Don't you dare ask me for something I can't give you." A grenlock tore down the hallway, and Hawke rose to a knee to fire. 

She killed that one, and the next as she stood. Fenris slid down the wall and watched her from his side on the floor. Eyes and steel glinting in Bethany’s magefire, Hawke's body flowed between opponents like a striking snake. Still, more attacked. She was coming closer to him, pushed back by sheer numbers. 

As she reached the door, a hurlock roaring in her face. He slashed at its legs with the longsword and the monster howled louder. She jammed a knife through its throat. For a moment he smiled with her in victory. Then the dead darkspawn fell forward, its bulk taking her down too. Her head hit the floor hard, and she lay still.

He dropped the longsword, crawled to her, and dragged the creature off. "Hawke." No response. "Hawke!" As if that would wake her when his first plea hadn't. He held his fingers before her lips. Still breathing. That was good.

Bethany swooped in and laid her hands on the sides of her sister's heads. They glowed for a moment. "Don't move her. Don't let her be moved. The silverdene will congeal if I don't get back to it." 

Fenris retrieved his weapon, and stared at the blood welling beneath Hawke's hair. The hilt of the salvaged sword dug into his palm. That was hardly what he'd call that pain, compared to the agony in his arm. He used the sword to push himself to his feet, swayed a moment, and took her place in the doorway. 

He sagged against the frame, trying to look both behind him to her unconscious form and forward to any oncoming threat. Now he was Hawke's last line of defense. If she were telling this tale, she’d have him laughing at their miserable choice of sentries. Not funny now.

An eternity later, Varric said "Now or never, Elf. Sorry in advance if it turns out to be poisonous."

Each step jarred the blackened bones. When he went to a knee halfway across the room, his vision blacked out. The walls still echoed with his cry and the clatter of the longsword on the floor as he opened his eyes.

Bethany wielded a sharp dagger. "Sorry, but it must be applied to the brand under the skin to work."

Varric handed her a wooden spoon they'd used to stir the concoction. The mage held it before Fenris's face. Once he realized what was expected, he accepted it between his teeth. Somewhere down the hall, a darkspawn howled. Varric stepped around Hawke to take overwatch.

And without a second to prepare, Bethany dug the dagger into Fenris's arm. Through force of will he held the limb in place, but he groaned around the wood between his teeth. Bethany carved neat lines mirroring the markings on his left hand. Blood filled each cut and spilled over the stone floor. 

Bethany set her dagger aside and reached for the pot she and Varric had worked in. Fingers tightened on his shoulders. For a moment he was before the Templar's fire, chained, held on his knees. 

Hawke's voice said "Hey, it can only get better from here."

He started to tell her she'd jinxed them but he lost the words in blood and lyrium and what in the Void was Bethany doing to him? She spread the cut flesh with one hand. The markings beneath his flesh lit the cuts bright red through the blood. Then she pressed in silverdene. 

It sizzled when it touched the markings, and they lit like a dying star. Fenris's scream tore at his throat. Cold fire engulfed the arm. The wooden spoon cracked. Blackness swallowed him whole.

############

"It appears we're taking turns sleeping on the job." Hawke let Fenris slump against her and held his arm steady while Bethany shoved glittery sludge into it from the pot.

"You should be lying down." Her sister's eyes shut as healing magic flowed from her fingertips to the dagger wounds. The flesh sealed over the silverdene, but Bethany kept working even after the cuts were completely closed. After she poured that much mana into him, Hawke would be on her own with her aching head. She'd call the endeavor a success if they all walked out. Not throwing up on anybody would be a bonus, though. 

Bianca's mechanism cycled four times in quick succession. Creatures in the hall outside gurgled and fell. "Is it working?" Varric asked.

"It's doing something," said Hawke. "but we can't be sure until he wakes and tells us how he feels."

"These are way too many darkspawn for a high dragon's den. Smaug must have been a terrible housekeeper.” Varric loaded Bianca with fresh bolts. "We should get out while we can."

Bethany pulled in a deep breath. The healing magic flowed back into her as if she'd inhaled that as well. Hawke ended up on the receiving end of a scalding sisterly glare. "Maker take you! How did you get over here? He's in better shape to move around than you are." She placed her hands on the sides of Hawke's head again, and Hawke sighed as some of the pain eased. "You should not be fighting."

"I'll go to bed the moment I have one to go to." Hawke helped Bethany break down the compounding equipment, then wrapped Fenris's arm over her shoulders. "Bethany, get the other side. Varric, it'd be handy if you found a path not swarming with monsters."

The dwarf snorted. "Wouldn't it?" But he kept the creatures at bay, all the way to the gate.

Something, probably an ogre, had thrown the stones aside. And when they edged around the pool and down the path, they were greeted with pandemonium.

"So that's where the darkspawn were coming from," said Varric.

Elves, dwarves, and humans fought side by side against a horde of darkspawn. For now she and her companions were protected by the mountainside, but the darkspawn seemed intent on getting into Erebor. They'd find the path in time.

Between Hawke and Bethany, Fenris got his feet under him. He stared with the others at the melee, then drew his greatsword. The blade was steady in his usual two-handed grip. A dangerous grin spread over his face. "Another battle is upon us. What are you waiting for?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things come to an end, even this story.

Time slowed. It felt less like Fenris was approaching the battle than like it drew closer to him. The slope of the Lonely Mountain was littered with the. Their killers slaughtered any that escaped from the pack on the mountain's eastern spur. 

Two steps from the nearest darkspawn, his markings ignited. Hot, familiar pain fueled his charge. His first upward strike disemboweled an emissary even as its skeletal face turned toward him. Black blood fountained. Once he set the greatsword swinging, its weight pulled him through the edges of the enemies' ranks. 

Time sped back to its normal pace. Grenlocks scrambled away from him, shrieking. He chased down those that didn't catch Hawke's arrows or Varric's crossbow bolts. Nothing would stand before him.

Hawke's voice penetrated his haze. After a moment he deciphered her words: "We have to find Merrill!"

The darkspawn Fenris destroyed had apparently cornered a squad of dwarves. They were barely discernible from grenlocks themselves, covered in armor and black blood. Joy at his body's eagerness for battle set him chuckling at their gaping mouths and sagging axes. Chest heaving, he leveled the greatsword at one. "Where are the Dalish lines?"

The dwarf pointed south. As Fenris turned, a shout went up from the gates: "To me, elves and humans! To me, my kinsfolk!"

The dwarves cheered and ran up the path, pushing past Hawke, Varric, and Bethany. The movement drew a hail of darkspawn crossbow bolts. All three of them dived for cover behind stones. "Glad somebody other than Hawke's taking charge of this mess," Varric grumbled.

Thorin and company were on their way down the mountain. Elves, humans, and dwarves battled through snarling darkspawn to reach him. The allies' numbers were much diminished from those camped in the valley the night before. Odds of them coming to Hawke's rescue were long indeed.

"Sister, is this truly our fight?" asked Bethany. "I'm so tired I could sleep here. That head wound of yours would put down anyone normal. And Fenris..."

Over his blessedly steady blade, Fenris met Hawke's eyes. In hers he saw how much she cared for Merrill and Gamlen Junior and even Anders, and how she'd leave them and flee if he demanded it. He hoped she saw that that demand would never come. "I'll remain at your side," he said. Varric pulled a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal from a pocket and scribbled something suspiciously like a note for future stories.

An enormous hurlock on a warg lead a darkspawn charge toward Thorin's consolidated forces. Bowstrings thrummed as Hawke and Legolas shot two off the path above. "If we stay here, we'll be overwhelmed," Fenris said.

"Let's join the party." Hawke sounded less than thrilled at the prospect, but Fenris had weeks of energy to burn. He strode before her, and sundered every opponent in range with the greatsword's full weight. Its rhythm took him. Projectiles stopped flying past his ears from behind as the ranged fighters kept the monsters from following. The enemies in front belonged to him.

"There!" Bethany cried. Flames erupted among the darkspawn, accompanied by someone suggesting what the creatures could suck on.

"We found Blondie, at least." Varric ducked a hunchbacked darkspawn which sailed over his head, shrieking. 

Bethany froze the creature and Fenris crushed it into a brown crystalline smear. He roared louder than the single strike deserved, but he felt _whole,_ after so long. Even in aid of yet another imperiled mage, he'd fight just to feel the enemy split beneath his blade.

The battlefield faded to a narrow trail he tore through one foe after the next. The mage had gotten himself surrounded near the edge of Thorin's charge. His pyrotechnic display did less to stem the darkspawn flow than to draw them to him. By the time Fenris reached Anders, he was fighting the urge to take just one more swing.

The mage backed away, nearly lighting his hair on a flaming pinecone Gandalf threw at a darkspawn. Then Anders' gaze passed Fenris, fixing on Hawke and Bethany. "Thank the Maker."

Bethany ran past Fenris to throw her arms around Anders. The two mages gazed soulfully into each other's eyes, and Hawke groaned "Damn everything."

###########

The battle raged for hours. The allies' numbers dwindled further. After much climbing to high places while trying not to get shot or stabbed, Hawke still hadn't found who she was looking for. During a lull Gamlen Junior bounded up to her instead. Legolas and Merrill followed behind.

"I told you he'd find her," Merrill said to Legolas. "I got a bit turned around, but he knew his way." 

The Mabari's paws thudded into Hawke's chest as he stood on his back legs to give her a big kiss on the face. Fenris caught her before she fell over backwards. "Easy, you lunk!" she told the dog. "I love you, but get down!" Gamlen Junior dropped into an ecstatic bow, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

"I'm glad to find you well," said Legolas.

"My head begs to differ." Hawke's head was also where that comment sounded amusing. Her sister's face fell in combined exhaustion and guilt. "But it's still attached, so I've got that to sing about," she added quickly. With luck her newfound stupidity was a temporary side effect of a cracked skull.

The dwarf with the crazy hair skidded to a stop beside them. In full dwarven mail he looked more barbaric than silly. Hawke was vaguely disappointed. "Varric! Should have known you'd get mixed up in this," he panted. "Can you spare your well-armed friends a moment?"

"Solve one problem, find eight more. Fenris, Legolas, Nori. The ones chugging potions are Anders and Gandalf." Varric pointed to each in turn by way of introduction. 

"Oh, Gandalf I know well enough." Nori beckoned the mages over.

Varric reloaded Bianca while he asked, "What's the trouble?"

"Thorin found the talking darkspawn that captured us beneath the Misty Mountains. He's marching down to kill it, and he talked the boys into going with him." The entire valley looked black with darkspawn.

"Not Fíli and Kíli?" When Nori nodded, Varric added, "Shit. Those guys are alright."

Fenris spun his sword, which hadn't left his hands since he woke near Erebor's gates. "I tire of waiting as well."

Hawke blinked at him. "I'm happy you're feeling better, but we'll get butchered then trampled down there."

"Look at our allies." Fenris waved his hand over the exhausted stragglers trying to catch up with Thorin's march. "And our enemies." He directed attention to the roiling mass of darkspawn in the valley. "As we cannot fly, and we have no supplies for the Deep Roads beneath Erebor, our only escape is through the valley. We may as well help the young dwarves on the way."

"I hate to agree with anybody so pessimistic, but what can I say? The man's right," said Varric. "Either we stand around and wait to die, or we try to punch through."

"There's no chance of finding a side way out through Erebor?" Bethany had been closing gashes and sealing bone breaks since their allies found out she could heal. At least the elves scrounged some lyrium potions for her.

"We couldn't find a side way in," Hawke reminded her gently. The roar of hundreds of darkspawn echoed up from the valley. "Time to go."

Legolas turned out to be an excellent shot, though he tended to let targets get too close. Between the ranged assault and Fenris's greatsword, they made good speed downhill.

"There he is!" How Nori spotted Thorin with twenty-something darkspawn in the way was beyond her. She bent to pull one of her arrows from a corpse. If anybody had arrows to spare, she didn't count on meeting them before she ran out.

In just a few shots she was reduced to knives, and she wasn't the only archer relying on bare blades. She dropped a particularly smelly Hurlock with a knife in the back, but the target of her rescue failed to notice his enemy was down. The long-haired dwarf wearing an empty quiver made stabbed at her chest with a notched sword. Fenris knocked the weapon aside with his own and elbowed the youth in the jaw. Her assailant tumbled to the ground beside Thorin with a pained yelp. One thigh bled heavily from a hole big enough to have been made by a spearhead.

The King under the Mountain lay unconscious among dead dwarves and darkspawn. Blood from a scalp wound covered his face and shoulder, where a broken spear haft protruded from the flesh. Torn rings of his chainmail glinted in the dirt. White bone cut through his pant leg just above his boot. While the fighters set a narrow perimeter guard, Anders and Bethany met in the center to tend him.

The last of Thorin's dwarves still standing shoved a dying hurlock off his two swords. Black and red blood matted his blond hair and one side of his beard. "Hello again!" His smile faded as he took in the size of Hawke's merry band. "Please tell me you're the forward guard of a battalion." Nobody did.

"Which one are you?" Varric asked between Bianca's rattling shots.

"I'm Fíli, that's Kíli." He pointed down at the one who'd attacked Hawke. The dwarf nodded once, teeth set too tightly for a greeting. 

Darkspawn closed in from all sides. None of the allied who'd followed Thorin earlier were in evidence now. Archers on the far left drew some darkspawn to their doom. The rest of the enemy seemed to be honing in on Hawke's location.

A big hurlock shouted and pointed from atop a low rise to the south. Behind her the old mage staggered, a darkspawn with a mace bearing down on him. Fenris slaughtered it, but Gandalf's arm hung at his side. 

"Do you mages have mana?" Hawke bellowed over the screams of the dying. All four shook their heads.

"I don't need any." Merrill reached both hands out and blood of the slain swirled around her. Legolas's eyes went wide. It was too soon to tell if blood magic would cause their first fight or their first tryst.

"Have you learned to heal with that, at least?" Anders almost hid his revulsion, but his nose wrinkled at the word "that."

"Well, no," said Merril. "But I can do this." She spun her staff. A few yards away a darkspawn exploded and took several of its compatriots with it. The rest stomped over the remains, heading straight for them. The elf zapped one with her staff. The others kept coming. She turned big, worried eyes on Hawke and added "I can also tie bandages."

############

Fenris shouldered the dwarf with the bad leg aside to catch a blow on his own blade. Though Kíli managed to stab the heart, he lost his grip on his sword when the creature fell. Though Anders had stopped his bleeding, the youth was fading fast. So long as Hawke was well enough to defend herself and Bethany, Fenris would protect the dwarf. Hawke always looked out for children.

He suddenly longed to see her with a child of her own. Why must that image come to him now, when they had so little chance of surviving this?

Varric's swearing grew vicious enough that Fenris glanced his way. The dwarf gripped a crossbow bolt embedded in his stomach. "Anders!" Fenris roared.

The mage looked back and forth between the battle and Varric in wild-eyed panic. "I can't do much more without mana!"

Epithets and accusations bunched up behind Fenris's tongue. He found himself too angry to speak any of them. Armor and bone gave beneath his foot as he kicked a darkspawn away. He stripped his gauntlet from the markings still above the skin and thrust the arm toward the mage. 

After a long pause, Anders gripped Fenris's forearm. The elf growled at the hot vertigo of power draining through the brands. Considering the mana Anders poured into healing him and Varric's company over the years, Fenris had debts to repay. He trembled with his body's demand to defend himself from the enemies surrounding him. The others held off the darkspawn for now, and the mage was... not a friend, but an ally. This was something only Fenris could do. The dwarf's language became slightly less foul as Anders' magic flowed into him.

The darkspawn he'd kicked hauled itself upright. Its blade bit into Fenris's hip as he twisted away. The greatsword slammed into the creature's neck in a single-hand. He tore from Anders' grip to continue the sword's arch into another attacking Hawke. 

The hurlock threw her to the ground. She lay on her back, fumbling for knives she'd already thrown and coughing like she couldn't breathe. Three hurlocks on wargs rode up behind the first. The new arrivals shoved the one on foot aside to get to Hawke. 

Fenris dove in front of them, his hand fading to blue light on instinct. He crushed a rider's heart. Before it fell from its steed he swept the wargs back with the greatsword. One fell on its side, its rider screaming, and Fenris brought the blade down on its mangy head. Beside him, Hawke's Mabari squared off with another warg.

The blade lodged the dead warg's skull. The last beast lunged. Still pulling to free his weapon with his right arm, he jammed the healed left into the live warg's maw. Rancid breath engulfed him. Armor blocked most of the teeth. Even as others sunk in and jaws locked over him, triumph swelled in his chest. Standing between Hawke and her enemies was the best death he could hope for. 

"The eagles! The eagles!" someone cried.

Darkspawn and defenders alike looked skyward. Huge, dark shapes fell screaming toward them. If they _were_ eagles, they were the biggest he'd ever seen. One of them flew straight at them and landed, scattering darkspawn with its wings. The wargs abandoned their riders and fled. Another eagle swooped down and closed its talons over Gandalf's shoulders. It flew off with the mage before anyone could do anything to help him.

"They're on our side," Anders shouted. "Gandalf begged their aid this morning. They can carry a few of us out of here." Holding a hand out to Bethany, he added "Come on, let's go."

"Can they take all of us?" asked Bethany. Anders shook his head.

"Go on, sister." Hawke used her bow to push herself to her feet. None but Fenris seemed to see the tears beneath her smile. "It'll be fun."

"How many?" Bethany asked Anders.

"Three was all Gandalf said they'd spare as transport." Anders pointed at another two eagles landing, knocking aside more darkspawn. "Bethany, please." But she turned her back on him to sling ice at a hurlock leveling a crossbow.

Grimly, Anders lifted Thorin, now partially conscious and muttering, onto one bird's back. It took off immediately. A fresh wave of opponents pelted toward them, and Fenris lost himself in the swing of his blade. When he looked up next, Thorin, Varric, and Anders were airborne. The mage hung from an eagle's claws.

"Coward!" Fenris roared.

"It just grabbed him," shouted Bethany. "He didn't want to leave us."

"He's not fighting very hard to get down," Fenris replied. But the eagles wheeling above did seem to be turning the tide of battle. Them and the giant bear tearing through the darkspawn flanks in the direction of their leader.

"Beorn's here," Fíli said. Kíli, on the ground again, grinned up at him.

Hawke crouched to collect more arrows from the dead. "You have strange friends." 

"You're one to talk!" Fíli laughed. 

"If the bear's a friend, it may keep us from being cut to pieces," Fenris said. "Can we trust it?"

"He didn't eat us the last time we saw him." Fíli pulled Kíli to his feet, wincing as the dark-haired dwarf moaned. Gamlen Junior ducked between the injured dwarf's legs. When he stood straight, Kíli's boots barely scraped the ground. "Your very own a warg!" Fíli whooped. The Mabari walked carefully behind Hawke and Fenris while they cut through darkspawn toward the bear. 

Paws as big around as shields flung monsters in all directions. Beorn's roar shook the earth beneath their feet. For the first time since they entered the valley, Fenris allowed himself hope. They might yet survive.

############

As night fell, the last of the darkspawn fled the field, pursued by Beorn, the eagles, and the allied fighters still able to give chase. Hawke and her friends left that hunt to them. They stood stunned and spent beside a darkspawn general torn into four separate pieces by Beorn's massive claws. The barren ground was almost invisible beneath the bodies and blood of the slain.

"I should go to my father." Between Legolas's tangled hair and bloodstained clothes, the Keeper's guards would probably stop him as a trespasser. "He'll want to know I'm well. We're well," he added, looking to Merrill.

Merrill looked to Hawke. "I... would you mind terribly... I mean, that is..."

"Go on," Hawke said, much more cheerfully than she had earlier. Fenris gave the briefest of satisfied nods, and she rolled her eyes at him. Merrill missed this exchange, too busy smiling with continual delighted surprise at her new friend. When it was time, Hawke would find her to say a proper farewell. If the Dalish could hide as old and powerful a blood made as Thranduil, they could hide anyone.  
"Clan Silvan won't forget your part in this day," Legolas said formally.

"If you compose a song about it, be sure to mention my flawless aim and diplomatic genius." Hawke grinned at Fenris's derisive snort. Her favorite audience for quips and jokes felt well enough to heckle.

Walking wounded evacuated those who could not walk. Some carried torches that bobbed like orange fireflies from the foot of the Mountain to the tent city of Dale on the shore of Long Lake. Hawke, Bethany, Fenris, and Gamlen Junior trudged along with them, acquiring more dwarves from Thorin's company as they walked. 

"Sorry about our welcome at the gates," said one of the white-beards gruffly. "It's been a long road back to this place. We let our pride get the best of us."

"Gold will do that to a person." Hawke glanced over at him. "There is gold in that thaig, isn't there?"

A dreamy look came into his old eyes. "More than you can imagine."

"In the words of a scoundrel in Varric's stories, I can imagine quite a bit." And Varric would appreciate the citation when she found him, because he was fine. He had to be fine. 

They stopped only once, when Bethany scraped together enough mana to ease Kíli's pain. The spear had passed all the way through his thigh, but she did the best she could. The young dwarf's eyes widened like he'd never been healed before. "Is your dog tired? I may be able to walk, now." 

Gamlen Junior loosed a whining bark which communicated clear as words that the implication offended him. Hawke lengthened her stride to keep up, laughing aloud. The dog walked with his head high and the dwarf still on his back.

Fíli held a torch over the leg to examine Bethany's work and whistled. "We could have used you on our journey! We spent half the trip bruised and bone-weary."

Bethany laughed weakly. "Tea and sleep are the best cures." 

"She healed mortal wounds every day in Kirkwall," Fenris said. "She saved all our lives at one time or another." The dwarves stared with undisguised awe until Bethany lowered her cloak's hood to hide her red face. Saying 'thanks, Bethany' would've been too simple for a man who placed such importance on strength. 

Something he'd shown plenty of today. Even dirty and bloodied he held himself with the powerful grace of the battlefield. Come to that, the dirt and blood added a certain rough heat to the picture, in torchlight, beneath the moon, with clean wood smoke wafting from the campfires in Dale. His green eyes caught her watching and banished the worst of her headache like magic. Maker, what she'd give for a proper bed.

Someone played a slow reel on a fiddle as the battle veterans passed Dale's sentries. Outside every tent people sat in together, talking quietly or staring into the night. Not all had armor piled beside them. Many men and elves still lay on the battlefield, with loved ones awaiting their return.

"There's Gandalf!" cried one of Thorin's dwarves. The old mage's arm hung in a sling which might've double as a scarf. He seemed otherwise no worse for wear after a flight over a battlefield in an eagle's talons.

Gandalf looked relieved to see them. "Come, you must speak to Thorin. Little time remains to him." The dwarves broke off toward a richly appointed tent across the camp from Thranduil's aravel. Kíli's hobbled beside Fíli at the head of the pack.

"Thorin's their uncle," said a familiar voice. Before Gandalf's tent stood Varric, Bianca in her accustomed place on his back. Not even a scar marred the expanse of body hair showing through his open coat.

Laughing, she rushed over to hug them both. "How do you learn these things?" she asked.

"We had time for a nice chat, after Blondie cast every healing spell he knew and then passed out on the ground. Gandalf came to check on us and offered me a prime spot here with a view of people coming from the Mountain. He's waiting for that hobbit friend of his."

"See, Fenris, Anders came back to heal," Bethany said.

"Certainly no one injured on the field of battle needed healing," Fenris muttered. "Hawke, for instance. Or me." He glanced over his bandaged arm and side.

"Don't say that. She'll take it personally." Drawing on her last reserves of stamina, Hawke applied her best impish grin. "She has lyrium for blood and heals every stubbed toe in Thedas by willing it so." Her sister crossed her arms and scowled, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Will you stay here, if he wishes it?" Fenris's tone made it clear how unwise he found that idea. Hawke shared a surprised glance with Varric to avoid staring her sister down.

Bethany gazed in the direction Gandalf had lead the dwarves, where Anders presided over a dying king. "Even when she's annoying," she sighed dramatically at Hawke, "my sister is all the family I have. Whatever happens, I'll follow her."

Hawke yawned and stretched to disguise her suddenly watery eyes. "Is there a spare blanket or three?" she asked Varric. "It'd be a shame not to take advantage of bare ground where nobody's trying to kill us."

"We can do better than that for the people who killed Smaug and rescued our boys." Nori clapped Varric on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to bow before Hawke. "House Durin is at your service."

############

Watching Hawke go to bed was one of Fenris's private joys, and one he'd missed since the destruction of Lake-town. The dwarves had scrounged a proper mattress from somewhere, covered it in blankets, and stuffed it into one of the Dalish tents.

And now Hawke, divested of leather and boots, stretched languidly in its center, eyes closed. The single candle caressed her in soft shadow as she rumpled the bedclothes, curling into them, mouth slightly parted in a smile of pure sensual ecstasy. He was used to hearing her deep, satisfied sigh closer to the end of the evening than the start. 

Long moments later, she turned her heavily lidded eyes to where he crouched just inside the tent. She'd put her head toward the entrance and her bow beside it, in case of trouble. Now she brushed his cheek languidly with cool fingertips. 

"Come to bed," she whispered. 

Though he had no breath to respond to her in words, he put out the candle and cast his armor aside. Beneath the blankets her body radiated warmth. He felt it even before he lifted her in to his arms, blankets and all, to make room for himself on the mattress. 

With no hesitation over the unmarked skin, she pressed his left hand to her lips. He trailed the lightest touch from her neck, down the edge of her collarbone, until she arched against him. In a breath he was nowhere near as tired as he'd been a few moments before. 

"In the morning we leave," Hawke's lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Not early, mind, but before noon. Even Templars will match my name and title to this."

"Let them come," said Fenris. They had survived so much in these past weeks. No Templars would separate them again. When he closed his eyes he could practically see Hawke, bow in hand, saving him from the fire. " _You are everything beautiful in this world. I am yours._ "

"Same to you." She laughed, tangled him in blankets, and pulled him down on top of her, and it didn't matter if she understood his Tevene. They were whole and together, despite all odds, and the world lay before them.


End file.
